NYCD - New York City Defenders
by RareFixerUpper
Summary: Tony Stark didn’t recruit Peter Parker. But some other Manhattan-based heroes did take an interest in Spider-Man. Can the Defenders help him become the hero he is destined to be? AU, T for language.
1. NYCD Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

Pandemonium reigned in the emergency room at Mount Sinai Queens Hospital. More so this night than most others.

Two gangs — Brooklyn Danger and Kings of Queens — accidentally encountered each other at Frank Principe Park. Not an uncommon occurrence, but tonight someone threw a soda can. Which quickly escalated into throwing rocks. Which inevitably resulted in vehicular property damage on one side and a minor head wound on the other. Police arrived on the scene before the gangs rushed each other, and both sides scattered into the night. But dispersing the gangs wasn't enough. Somewhere in the ensuing series of brawls, stabbings, drive-by shootings, and one impromptu firebombing, Emergency Services Dispatch Center got their signals crossed and sent ambulances carrying members of both gangs to the same ER.

If it was just the patients — injured BDs and Kings — there wouldn't have been a problem. Most of them weren't even conscious when they arrived. When their families got there, the shouting started. When more members of both gangs came in to protect and support their comrades, the brawling started. With police presence thinned by continuing violence in other parts of two boroughs, the brawl quickly devolved into a small riot.

Gang members and their families were at each others' throats. Police were trying to break up individual fights. Hospital security was trying to keep the fighting contained in the ER waiting area. Orderlies were trying to get patients safely out of the waiting area. Waiting patients and their families were cowering in corners or running for the main exit. Nurses were trying to keep the gangs from targeting wounded rivals. Doctors were trying to treat traumatic injuries before more were inflicted.

This was the scene when Spider-Man arrived. He came into the ER at speed on the end of a long swing, using momentum to bowl over a knot of brawlers, and using the impacts to shed enough velocity to roll and land on his feet in the middle of the waiting area.

He took a deep breath and shouted, "STO-O-O-OP!"

The entire room, already shocked to stillness by the abruptness and force of his entry, turned to look at Queens' own homegrown superhero. They took in the small frame, the blue sweat pants and shirt. The sleeveless red hoodie, gloves, socks, and balaclava. The welder's goggles with scratched lenses. The spider drawn on the hoodie in marker. They looked at their friends and relatives groaning on the floor where they had fallen when Spider-Man swung through them, knocking them down like bowling pins. They looked back at the self-appointed vigilante in the shabby, home-made costume.

He had enough time to say, "Everybody OUT of the E—" before he was tackled by half the people in the room, driven through the double doors and into the emergency treatment center by their charge. A mass of bodies weighed him down, punching and kicking indiscriminately at the red and blue clad hero, missing as often as they hit, but hitting often enough to make him curl into a ball to protect his midsection with his knees and his head with his arms. "Stop OW! You're not OH! Supposed to fight AGH! In a hospita-a-A-ARGH!" Blows continued to rain down.

Spider-Man continued to absorb the blows until a particularly lucky punch caught his cheekbone and bounced his head off the hard tile floor. He shook it off, then rolled onto his back. "CUT!" He kicked out with both legs, sending two men sliding across the tiles and three more reeling. "IT!" He swung both arms wide, knocking four more assailants away. "OUT!" He drew his legs back up to his chest and kipped up onto his feet in a fluid motion.

Then the webs started flying. Where someone was down, he webbed them to the floor with a wide spray. Where someone was attacking someone else, he used a web line to yank them away, some tumbling to the floor with their legs pulled out from under them, some strategically flung across the room into other combatants. When he was done, seven Brooklyn Danger, six Kings of Queens, four affiliated family members or friends, two orderlies, and a police officer were fixed to the walls and floor of the ER in various states of consciousness and agitation.

Spider-Man's head darted back and forth as he surveyed the room, making sure no one else needed to be knocked down or webbed up. He stepped toward two nurses who stood side by side to block a treatment area, a doctor tending an injured child behind them. Their name tags read "Temple" and "Parker".

"Are you...!" He paused and cleared his throat, then continued with his voice an octave deeper. "Are you all right?"

"Parker", a woman with dark brown hair just starting to gray, let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Yes, thank you! Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine."

"Temple", a tall Latina whose expression was both resigned and quizzical, asked, "Are you making your voice deeper?"

"What? No, I—!" The short hero with the suspiciously deep voice suddenly tensed and crouched as if to jump, but instead spun around as the doors from the waiting area burst open. A boy no older than fifteen strode in, firing a revolver as he came, shooting at Spider-Man as the ER staff and patients screamed in terror.

The shooter and his target moved straight toward each other. Spider-Man never dodged, keeping himself firmly in place between the shooter and the nurses he was speaking to a moment before. The shooter never faltered, although his hands shook enough to throw his aim off wildly. Bullets hit the ceiling, a glass cabinet door, a fire extinguisher, Spider-Man's left arm, an EKG cart, and Spider-Man's right rib cage. The hero flinched and cried out when each bullet struck, but continued moving toward the shooter. The empty revolver clicked in time with each step as the boy kept pulling the trigger. When they closed to arm's reach, Spider-Man grabbed the gun in one hand and his assailant's collar in the other. He threw the boy up against the ceiling, following up with a steady stream of webbing that fixed the shooter in place, hanging over the ER with a shocked expression.

Temple and Parker rushed up to support the hero as he stumbled, trying to staunch both wounds with either hand.

"Whoa, easy there, let's get you onto a table over here and check you out." Temple tried to steer Spider-Man to an empty station.

"No, it's fine," he grunted, obviously in pain.

Parker quick-stepped over to a cabinet, pulling supplies from the drawers. "Hey! Get on that table, mister!"

Temple was surprised when the vigilante meekly walked over and gingerly climbed onto the examining table. While Parker continued collecting iodine, scissors, sutures, sterile pads, gauze and bandages, Temple tore Spider-Man's sleeve open. "This is a flesh wound, clean through-and-through the outer left bicep." She pulled up his vest and sweatshirt. "And the other is a graze between the third and fourth ribs on the right side. You are one lucky kid."

"I'm not—"

"Please!" Temple held a hand in front of his face. "I have leftovers older than you. Now let's take this stuff off and get you patched up."

Spider-Man's head whipped around to look at Parker, them back to Temple. "What? No!" He slid off the table and took a step toward the exit.

Parker dropped supplies onto a tray so she could put a hand on his shoulder. "You can't just go, you've been shot! Twice!"

Temple stepped back, staying close but not impeding Spider-Man's progress. "Easy, calm down, nobody's going to touch the mask. I promise," she whispered.

Spider-Man cocked his head at Temple for a moment, then stretched his left arm out to shoot a strand of webbing through the open doors into the waiting area. He yanked hard on the line, which was apparently fixed to something very sturdy as the motion launched him forcefully out of the ER all the way into the ambulance bay. Another "thwip" and he was gone.

Parker and Temple stood silent for a moment, staring at the shambles the ER was left in. Eventually, Temple's mouth tugged into a smirk. "'Get on the table, mister'?"

"'I've got leftovers older than you, kid'?"

Both women laughed, shook their heads, and began tending to the people trapped in webs around the ER.


	2. NYCD Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Claire Temple took a quick glance at her smartphone to confirm the address, then pushed through double doors into the small but brightly lit lobby of the building. A directory put the offices she was looking for on the third floor, but so had another directory in another lobby in another building some four blocks south. She noted the "out of service" sign on the elevator — also like the other building — and started up the winding stairs. _What is it with the elevators in this neighborhood?_

Three doors down from the open stairwell she found what she was looking for, writ large in gold letters on the glass door.

Nelson, Murdock, and Paige

Incorporated

———

Legal and Investigative Services

Claire opened the door to take in the office. A main room with windows opposite the door, and four windowed offices opening off the main room, two on either side. Three of the offices had one of the partners' names on a closed door. The fourth office had been converted to a waiting area and break room, currently filled to capacity with people, some sitting quietly, others holding conversations in low voices. A hand-lettered sign on the reception desk read, "Please take a seat and have some coffee." She took off her jacket and stood outside the door of the waiting area.

After a few minutes the door marked "Paige" opened. A thin blond woman led an older, dark-haired man to the main office door.

"Thank you very much for coming in, Mr. Alvarez. I think we have a very good chance of getting your deposit back from the rental office. I should have news for you in a couple of days, but call us if you have any questions. Or if the landlord calls you."

The man shook her hand and left. She went to the reception desk, made a few notes on a pad, crossed to the waiting area. "Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, I can see you now. Ms. Daley, Mr. Nelson should be with you in a few minutes." She looked at Claire. "Do you have an appointment, Ms...?"

Claire shook her head. "No, I need to see Matt, er, Mr. Murdock, about... someone who passed through... my workplace, last night."

Karen regarded her as the Johnsons crossed between them. "We've met, haven't we?"

Claire grimaced slightly. "That mess last year, with the, um, unsafe building. I'm Matt's nurse friend."

Comprehension struck swiftly. "Oh my god, that's it! Wow, that was a mess, wasn't it?" Karen glanced toward the door marked "Murdock". "Matt is working on some briefs, but I'm sure he'd take a break to—"

The door to the office opened. Matt stood there, dark glasses on, white cane in hand. "Claire, is that you?" He extended a hand, palm up.

"Matt! How are you?" Claire smiled and walked to him, taking the offered hand in hers.

"I'm well. It's so nice to hear your voice again."

Karen moved to her office where the Johnsons were waiting. She silently mouthed "nice to see you" before she shut the door.

"Please come in, sit down." Matt gestured to three worn chairs in front of his desk as he closed the door, then adjusted the Venetian blinds for privacy. They both sat. "So, do you need me for my day job or my night job?"

Claire chuckled. "You are not one for small talk, are you?" She shook her head, knowing he couldn't see it but knowing that he could sense it otherwise. "It's not like that. Not really, anyway. And it's not for me."

Matt quirked the corner of his mouth. "A friend in trouble? Criminal or civil?"

"Not, it's not that either. I want you to help someone I saw at work last night, someone who came into the emergency room at Sinai Queens."

"The riot? You were there? I thought you worked somewhere in Harlem these days."

"Yes, I was there to cover a shift for a friend. And it wasn't actually a riot. More of a brawl, although it certainly had potential." She paused, looked at her hands folded on her lap. "Spider-Man broke it up before it got too bad."

"I heard. I'm glad you weren't hurt."

"I wasn't, but Spider-Man got shot. Twice. Minor wounds, for gunshots, but he took off before we could treat him." She looked up again. "That's what I want to talk about. I think... I think he might be like you."

Matt leaned forward. "Like me? How?"

Claire fidgeted, uncertain how to explain. "I think... I got the impression that his vision, or his hearing, might be... unusual."

"What gave you that impression?"

"Well, to start with, he wears these goggles, like welder's goggles or something, but I noticed the lenses are all scratched up. Not like normal wear and tear scratched up, more like he took a piece of metal to them on purpose. I couldn't see his eyes at all."

Matt shrugged slightly. "Keeping your eyes hidden is pretty important for a secret identity. It's pretty much rule number one."

"Matt, there's no way a person with nor—... with typical vision could see anything through those goggles. And he reacted to something before anyone else."

"Maybe he's just got good reflexes."

"I don't mean he reacted faster, I mean he reacted before anyone else even knew what was happening. Before anyone could know what was happening!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. When he finished tossing people around and spraying webs on everyone..." Matt cocked his head. "Not as weird as it sounds. When he'd finished with the fighting in the ER, he asked if we were alright. Suddenly he tensed up and spun around. And then the doors from admitting burst open and some gang kid with a gun came in. Spider-Man charged him and knocked him down." Claire smiled, remembering his bravery. "Then he threw him in the air and webbed him to the ceiling."

Matt laughed sharply. "Now there's a mental picture!"

Claire joined him in a chuckle. "Guy looked so... confused. But Matt, there was no warning at all. Spider-Man knew he was coming before he came into the room. The only person I've ever met who had that kind of awareness is you." She pointed at him.

Matt considered for a moment. "It seems possible, based on what you've told me. I'm almost certainly not the only person in the world with enhanced senses." He shrugged. "Probably not even the the only one in New York. But why are you telling me about it?"

"Because I want you to help him! He's just a kid, he's running around in workout clothes and a hoodie diving into gang fights, he's going to get killed!"

He leaned back into his chair. "I'm not sure what you expect me to do, Claire. Make him stop? I can't. It's not for me to decide what someone else does with their... abilities. Remember how successful you were convincing me to give up my night job?"

Claire sneered at the memory. "Oh, I know better than that! I was just hoping you might, I don't know, coach him? Train him? Teach him to use his enhanced senses to avoid getting hurt. Make sure he's doing the hero thing," she made circular gestures with one hand while she searched for a word, "right."

"'The hero thing?'"

"You know what I mean."

Matt turned his chair in short arcs, back and forth, while he considered. "I can't just abandon Hell's Kitchen to... take on an apprentice. I don't even know how to find him. Queens is a big place." He held up a hand to forestall Claire's objection. "But if you can arrange a meeting, I'll talk to him and see what I can do. Agreed?"

A smile lit up her face. "Agreed! Thank you, Matt, this is a huge load off my mind!" She stood up, took his hand and squeezed it.

Matt stood with her. "Midnight at the Powerhouse by Pier Ninety-Eight. On the roof. Let me know when, but give me a couple of days' notice, alright?"

"No problem!" She headed for the door, as if to leave before he could change his mind. As she left his personal office she stopped, smiled, and said loudly, "Thank you, Mr. Murdock, you're a terrific lawyer!" She smirked at the bemused expression on his face.

When she was halfway down the hall to the stairs, she stopped short and wondered aloud, "How am _I_ supposed to find Spider-Man?"


	3. NYCD Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

"I'm telling you, I think he actually let the other kid shoot him."

Claire Temple poured another cup of tea from the kettle, and topped off Luke Cage's cup. She knew Luke didn't particularly care for tea, but he cared for her, so he drank tea when she drank tea. Reason number twenty-three that Luke was a great boyfriend. She sat back into the couch, cozying under Luke's very muscular arm. Reason number four that Luke was a great boyfriend.

They were relaxing at Claire's apartment. She was enjoying some union-mandated time off following a traumatic event in the workplace, although she wasn't sure what actually counted as "traumatic" after dealing with The Hand. He was visiting before going to his latest job as a bartender and bouncer in one of Harlem's currently-trendy night spots, which was currently trendy in part because a genuine superhero was a bartender and bouncer there. The late afternoon sun streaming in the window made the room warm, and the muffled sounds of traffic and pedestrians outside seemed far away.

"He was ready to jump out of the way before the door even opened, but he didn't. He just walked straight into the kid's line of fire. He shielded us with his own body."

Luke pressed his lips to Claire's temple. "Then I owe Spider-Man a debt of gratitude."

She leaned into him. "I'm glad you said that. Because I want you to help me help him."

Luke was quiet for a moment. He sipped his tea, set the cup down. "Help you, help him, what?"

"Help him do his hero job safely. Matt agreed to meet him, but I have to get Spider-Man to go to Matt, and I need you to actually... find him."

The big man looked sideways at his girlfriend. "Find him."

Claire stared hard at the cup of tea, seemingly engrossed in the tiny wisps of steam swirling near the surface. "Mm-hm."

"Find Spider-Man."

"Uh huh."

"In Queens."

"Yep."

"Find Spider-Man, in Queens, and tell him the Devil of Hell's Kitchen wants to... have a friendly chat?"

"On top of the Powerhouse. At midnight. Two days after you tell him."

"Oh, well, that doesn't sound strange at all. I'm sure he'll jump at the chance to trade shop talk with another masked vigilante. Alone. At night. In Hell's Kitchen. By the waterfront."

Claire elbowed Luke in the ribs. She had to put her shoulder into it to make sure he noticed. "Well, don't make it sound like you're sending him to a mob hit. Just say the nurse from the hospital riot wants him to meet someone who can help him stay safe while he does his local hero thing." She looked up at him, trying to mix resolve, pleading, and just a hint of smolder in her eyes.

Luke met her gaze, then surrendered to the inevitable with a roll of his eyes. "Fine. I'll figure something out. Honestly, woman, the things I do for you."

Claire turned her head so he couldn't see the triumphant but affectionate smile on her face. He couldn't deny her much of anything. Reason number eight that Luke was a great boyfriend.


	4. NYCD Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

"Why do you want to know who Spider-Man is?" Jessica Jones asked her new client, occasional teammate, and former lover. Although he wasn't technically a client. Clients paid, but Luke came to her office-slash-apartment asking for a favor.

"I don't need to know who he is, I just want you to find him for me. For Claire, really."

"Why is Claire looking for Spider-Man?" A rare grin appeared on her lips. "You not man enough for her, big guy?"

Luke deadpanned, "Hah hah. No, she saw him at that Mount Sinai thing a few nights ago. You heard about that?"

"Yeah, it was on the news. He jumped into a gang fight at an ER or something. Almost got shot."

"He did get shot. Twice. Claire saw it up close."

"Is she okay?"

Luke smiled warmly. Despite the issues — both good and bad — in their mutual history, they had remained friends. Jessica's concern for Claire was genuine, rooted both in her regard for the courageous nurse and her desire for him to be happy. "She's fine. The way she tells it, he took both bullets to save everyone else in the room."

"Damn. Ballsy move. Is he bulletproof like you?"

"No, the gang kid was just a lousy shot, and Spider-Man got away with minor wounds. Claire thinks he's more like Matt."

"A self-righteous pain in the ass?"

Luke chuckled. "No, blind, but with something else that lets him function better than sight. She wants Matt to check him out and give him pointers or something."

"Huh." Jessica took a swallow from her glass. Luke chose to pretend it was iced tea. In a short glass. Without ice. That smelled like whiskey. "Okay, figure a day to study all the press and YouTube coverage on him, another day to canvass eyewitnesses, then the actual search itself... I can put four days into it. That's all the time I can spare before I have to pull some billable hours. Rent's coming up, and cheap booze doesn't pay for itself." She drained the rest of the glass. "You want pictures, an address, an appointment, what?"

Luke clearly hadn't considered that. "Hm. Could you just give him a message?"

"Sure. Why not? Want me to bring him a pizza, too?"

"Just tell him the nurse from Mount Sinai wants him to meet someone who can help him."

"Time and place?"

"Midnight, two days after you give him the message. On top of the Powerhouse."

Jessica gave him an "oh please" look. "That was Matt's idea wasn't it? Freakin' drama queen..."


	5. NYCD Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Spider-Man had been active a little over seven months.

For the first five months, his exploits had been utterly random. Jessica would have called them sporadic, but a lucky hit in her initial online search led her to focus on local papers and community newsletters in Queens. She found references to the home-grown hero at least a few times a week, even allowing for cross coverage by multiple outlets. It was mostly human interest stuff about a local eccentric doing good deeds for random strangers, but every couple of weeks or so Spider-Man was credited with stopping a mugging or a robbery or some other minor crime. Some of those stories rose to the city papers, even to local broadcast news. A few times, he was reported to have performed feats of strength and agility well outside human ability, but these were largely dismissed as exaggeration by excited bystanders.

Jessica wasn't sure what to make of Spider-Man's reported climbing abilities. From almost the first sighting there were claims of climbing sheer walls and clinging to vertical and even inverted surfaces. There were several pictures — taken from long distance — of the costumed figure perched in some fairly improbable spots, ranging from building ledges to construction cranes to the top of a cell tower. But Jessica couldn't determine whether they should be attributed to athletic ability, hand-held climbing gear, or some power or technology that allowed him to defy gravity.

The webs didn't come up until about three months in. Every news outlet in Queens quoted eyewitnesses who saw Spider-Man swinging through the borough. The city papers, morning radio, and evening news devoted a couple of days to reporting and discussing the unique mode of travel. They did it again the first time he left a would-be mugger hanging by the ankles from a street light. And they did it a third time when he was recorded overtaking a speeding car and catching it in his bare hands before it hit a city bus. That was when the media stopped using phrases like "self-styled" and "so-called" — that was when they just called him Spider-Man.

Something changed at the five month mark. Spider-Man's activities went from regular to prolific. He was sighted on a daily basis. He started showing up at crime scenes a few times a week, then practically every day. _Guy probably picked up a police scanner, or stole some cop's radio._ While he still appeared at random times during the day, he was routinely sighted in the evenings and overnight. _He has a job he can step out on once in a while, but not too often. Bet there's no family waiting at home._ Some local papers made Spider-Man sightings a regular feature. Internet sites devoted to his exploits popped up. _'Amazing Spider-Man dot com'. 'Spectacular Spider-Man dot ee-dee-yoo'. 'WEB of Spider-Man dot org'? Give me a break._ He was mentioned in local news broadcasts on a weekly basis. Video from security cameras and cell phones appeared online. Three precinct captains in Queens made noncommittal statements about NYPD's official position against "vigilantism and thrill-seeking", although none of them mentioned Spider-Man specifically. And the Daily Bugle began its one paper war on "the wall-crawling menace".

Jessica had to admit to herself she was impressed. Which annoyed her, because she felt like she should have heard a lot more about someone with Spider-Man's track record. The only costumed vigilante with more direct criminal interventions was Daredevil. She herself rarely used her powers publicly and she didn't exactly go looking for the opportunity. Luke actively patrolled Harlem but tended to target the "big fish". Since Daredevil's return, Danny Rand did more damage to white collar criminals and corrupt city officials as CEO of Rand Industries than he did to ordinary street criminals as (the Immortal) Iron Fist. Spider-Man had gone hands-on for the people of New York more often than she and Danny combined. Of course, he didn't have to deal with mind-control sadists or ninja shadow cults, but he was definitely ahead on numbers.

Not that it was a competition. Absolutely not.

Charting Spider-Man sightings on a map of New York confirmed he rarely left Queens, and never appeared west of the East River. Connecting the dots by day of the week showed he might have established patrols through the borough. Color-coding the dots by time of day confirmed he was most active between five in the afternoon and one in the morning. Highlighting the first sightings after five o'clock each day revealed a quarter of them occurred around Cambria Heights. Highlighting the last sightings of each day after nine revealed a third of them occurred in Forest Hills.

Jessica stepped back from the map she had taped to the wall, covered in pins and post-its, drawn on with markers and highlighters, then leaned against the edge of her desk. She considered her work for a moment, then stepped back up to the map. She uncapped a blue marker and wrote two words in bold letters.

She labeled Cambria Heights "WORK" and Forest Hills "HOME".


	6. NYCD Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

**Eyewitness Account 1**

Darrel, bus driver

local bus 1322

6:30 AM

"You're smart to ask a bus driver what's what in this city. We see everything on our route, we don't miss nothin', we gotta be alert all the time.

"So yeah, I seen Spider-Man. I seen 'im a bunch of times. He's all over the place, always on the go, always lookin' for somethin' goin' on. Seen 'im up close twice.

"One time a kid an' a dog ran out in the street. The dog ran out, an' the kid chased the dog, right in front of me. Maybe too close to stop, maybe not, I never found out, thank God, 'cause all of a sudden there's this BAM! on top of the bus, an' Spider-Man jumps off the top an' grabs the kid an' the dog with those web ropes he got an' picks 'em both up an pulls 'em both up on a street light. Then he just lowered 'em both down nice and easy, an' jumped over a roof outta sight.

"This other time I stopped for sirens comin' across my route, an' here he comes doin' his Tarzan thing, hangin' off one of his ropes behind 'im an' throwin' another one in front of 'im. An' three police cruisers goin' full speed after 'im. Found out later he was headed for a bank robbery. Some guy blew a hole in a vault an' walked out with bags of cash, but Spider-Man beat 'im down an' left 'im for the cops.

"Couldn't tell ya which way he comes an' goes. I don't keep track of that stuff. I'm just glad to see 'im every time I see 'im."

———

———

**Eyewitness Account 3**

Rudy, deli owner

Rudy's Deli on Booth Street

7:10 AM

"He's a nice man, that Spider-Man. One morning I stop out front there to unload my shopping from the farmer's market. I'm supposed to use the alley, but I don't like to take my fresh produce past the dumpsters. It's just not sanitary, am I right?

"Well, I get two bushels inside, but when I come back out my truck is gone! I look around, thinking somebody stole it, but I see it rolling down the street by itself. I shout for help and try to chase it down, but my hip isn't so good anymore, I can't run fast enough to catch my own truck. But I don't have to, because Spider-Man jumps off a rooftop in front of the truck and stops it cold with his bare hands! Six stories he jumps, and that old pick-up truck of mine weighs a solid ton, but for him it's nothing.

"He actually waits for me to get there, and I'm apologizing for leaving the brakes off, but he tells me he can hear a grinding noise coming from the gearbox when the truck is rolling in park. So I set the brakes this time, and Spider-Man helps me carry all my food back to my shop. Then he tells me he'll push my truck to a garage a couple of blocks west if I want to get the transmission fixed because, and I quote, he knows a guy.

"Spider-Man sets me up with the mechanics for repairs at a nice discount, because he stopped some car thieves from taking some expensive cars they were working on a few months before and they wanted to pay him back. But Spider-Man says he doesn't... ehh, he doesn't need any repairs, so can they fix my truck instead? They take a look, call me later that day, say they can do a lot of it with some rebuilt parts they're trying to get rid of anyway. Two days later I've got my truck back running like new and a standing delivery order for six sandwiches every Monday afternoon. I always throw in a two-liter bottle of orange soda for them because they did such a good job on my truck.

"So long story short, Spider-Man comes from the roof four buildings down, and he leaves headed for the next poor schnook who needs his help. Lucky for the schnook, am I right?"

———

———

**Eyewitness Account 7**

Stan, discount jeweler

Stan's Discount Jewelry on Queens Boulevard

8:45 AM

"I didn't actually see what happened, not in person anyway. I was home asleep when I got a call from the police. Four men broke into my shop, and I needed to come in.

"When I got there, the place was a mess. They'd bypassed the security system and cleared out the safes, money and inventory, when Spider-Man interrupted them. He set off the alarms on the stores on either side, then kept the thieves from getting away. All four were lashed together back to back in a circle with webs, and there was a solid layer of that web stuff all over the floor. There was no sign of the money or the jewels anywhere. I thought I was going to have to write off the entire store and file for bankruptcy.

"Then the web stuff started... melting, I guess. First it got soft and stretchy, then it turned hard and brittle, and then it just dissolved into mist. But when it cleared, we found the missing money and jewels. The thieves dropped it all while they were fighting Spider-Man, and he webbed it all down.

"I was waiting for the police to finish photographing and collecting all of it for evidence when I spotted him across the street, in that alley right over there. He was sitting on the fire escape in the shadows, watching the police take over the scene. I waved at him, and he waved back. Then he moved further into the dark and I never saw him again.

"Once everything was gathered up, not a single dollar or stone was missing. Spider-Man may not have saved my life, but he did save my livelihood. He ever comes into my shop, he can have anything in the place. At cost."

———

———

**Eyewitness Account 9**

Officer Hernandez, cop

NYPD

9:20 AM

"For the record, it is the official position of the NYPD that vigilantism and thrill-seeking are not in the public interest.

"Off the record, it is the unofficial policy of every cop east of the river that Spider-Man is a stand-up guy. And we will do nothing against him unless we see him commit a crime. Reporting his movements to a private investigator falls under the category of 'against him'.

"Go back to Manhattan. And have a nice day."

———

———

**Eyewitness Account 14**

Sun, food truck operator

On-the-Go Authentic Tex-Mex Food Van

10:35 AM

"Yes. Spider-Man absolutely saved my life.

"One day I was selling gyros — I used to sell gyros — by the magnet campus in Cambria Heights. There was a flash under the grill. When I looked everything seemed fine. A couple of minutes later my customers started yelling. Pointing at the back of my truck. Running away. I leaned out the service window to look. I saw smoke. The propane tank was on fire.

"So I grabbed my fire extinguisher. Ran around the truck. It took me a minute to get the pin. I sprayed the fire but the pressure was low. It ran out before the fire did.

"Suddenly Spider-Man landed on top of the truck. It was like he just dropped out of the sky. He waved his hands at the propane tank. This white gauze stuff — spider webs — came out of his hands. It stuck to the tank. He bent down, spun around, and launched the tank into the air. Ripped it right out of the bracket. It flew about a hundred yards straight up. Before it started coming back down. Still burning, mind you.

"Then Spider-Man used his webs to do the same thing with the empty fire extinguisher. Snatched it right out of my hands. The extinguisher hit the tank. Ruptured it. The gas ignited. Blew up in mid-air.

"Instead of on my truck. In the street. Beside a school. In my face.

"When I looked back at the truck, Spider-Man was gone. I didn't even get to say thank you.

"Nobody was hurt. Insurance paid for repairs to the truck. And a car that got hit by debris. I carry four extinguishers now. And I call my extra-spicy salsa the Spider-Man Special."

———

———

**Eyewitness Account 16**

Lashawna, child (in the presence of Anna Jones, mother)

private residence on Exeter Street

11:15 AM

"I was playing superheroes with my best friends James and Linda and we were the Avengers so James was all 'I'm the Hulk and I smash!' and Linda was all 'I'm Black Widow and I know karate!' and I was all 'I'm Princess Falcon and I can fly!' and we heard sirens so we ran to the corner and police cars were coming and they were all 'woo-woo-woo!' and they were chasing this super old yellow car and then James shouted 'Spider-Man!' and Linda was like 'you can't be Spider-Man you're the Hulk!' and James said 'lookit it's Spider-Man!' and we were all 'yay Spider-Man!' because it was him for real and he was swinging on his webs and everything but then we heard this really loud crash so we looked and the super old car was in the air headed right at us and we were all 'AAAHH!' and then Spider-Man jumped through the air sideways right over our heads and he was all 'psh! psh! psh!' with his webs and the car got stuck and it was hanging from the trees and the street lights by webs and we were all 'yay Spider-Man!' again and Spider-Man was all 'are you okay?' and James and Linda were like 'yes Mister Spider-Man' but I was crying because I fell down and skinned my knee but Spider-Man helped me up and brushed off my knee and put webs on it to make it stop bleeding so I hugged him and then he swinged away and the police took the bad guys in the super old car to jail and Mama let me have ice cream twice that day because I had a fright.

"Mama, can I have ice cream now? Please?"

———

———

**Eyewitness Account 21**

Aasif, pizza delivery guy restaurateur

Joe's Pizza on 29th Street

12:50 PM

"Of course I have seen Spider-Man. Everyone has seen Spider-Man. He swings by on his webs, and he runs and jumps across the rooftops in that red and blue costume with the mask. He talks to people, he helps old ladies carry groceries, he does flips for children. Everyone has seen Spider-Man.

"A man came in to pick up an order. He was sweaty and nervous. He was also early, so I told him he would have to wait. But he was very impatient, and then he started shouting, and then he picked up a chair and started smashing up my restaurant!

"So what if we deliver? It is still a restaurant!

"Anyway, the crazy man threw the chair through my front window. He was climbing over the counter to attack me when he suddenly just flew backwards out of my restaurant. Spider-Man was outside. He used one of his webs to pull the crazy man away from me, then he caught him before he landed in the street.

"So the crazy man turned on Spider-Man. For a moment he was choking him, but Spider-Man jumped out of his hands. Then the crazy man started chasing him. Spider-Man was jumping and flipping and dodging all over, half way down the block, across the street, and then back up the block. It went on like that for five minutes.

"When the police arrived, Spider-Man shouted to them to call an ambulance for the crazy man because he might be on drugs. So Spider-Man kept it up for another ten minutes until the ambulance came. Then he shouted to the ambulance crew to tell him what to do about the crazy man.

"The ambulance crew told him to hold the crazy man still long enough for them to give him a shot. That was when Spider-Man used his webs to stick the crazy man's legs together. The crazy man fell down, Spider-Man held his arms, and the ambulance crew gave him a shot. The crazy man calmed down, Spider-Man helped get him on a stretcher, and the ambulance took him away.

"Spider-Man stayed to tell the police what happened. They told him they were supposed to arrest costumed vigilantes, but they could not be blamed if he got away. And he stood there looking at them. So they said again that if he had not already escaped, they would have to take him to their station, and they turned their backs on him. He still stood there. I finally shouted at him, "GO!" and he jumped onto the wall and climbed away.

"That is how I saved Spider-Man from being arrested by the police.

"But I did not see where he came from. And when he left, he was headed straight up."

———

———

**Eyewitness Account #23**

Janice, bank teller

Five Boroughs Credit Union on Metropolitan Avenue

1:15 PM

"Sure, I've seen Spider-Man in action. He stopped a robbery right here at this branch. But I gotta warn you, it's not much of a story.

"It was a Thursday afternoon about two months ago, near closing time. Three men in masks came up to the entryway with shotguns. They ran into the vestibule there, but before the outer doors closed Spider-Man dropped down behind them and sprayed webs on the inner doors. The robbers couldn't get in. By the the time they turned around, the outer doors were closed and Spider-Man sprayed those, too. The robbers couldn't get out.

"They tried to shoot through the glass, but that's actually security glass on both sides. It's strong enough to hold up to a few shotgun blasts. They might have shot through it eventually, but one of them got hit by a pellet that ricocheted off the metal frame. With Spider-Man outside, two armed security guards inside, and one of them with a pellet in his arm, they decided to give up.

"Spider-Man waited until the police arrived. I think he was texting. And I think he took a selfie with the robbers and our security guards behind him. Then he climbed up the glass out of view. It took ten minutes for the police to cut through the webs on the outer doors, about five minutes to handcuff the robbers and take them away, then another ten minutes to cut through the webs on the inner doors. By the time they finished taking statements, it was two hours after closing. But I guess you aren't really interested in that part.

"Anyway, I couldn't see which way he came from, or where he went after. I'm sorry I can't be more help. I told you it wasn't much of a story."

———

———

**Eyewitness Account #26**

Scotty, sales clerk

Nokovs kiosk in Queens Place Shopping Mall

2:10 PM

"Look, I'd say if I could, but I didn't see it. Nobody did. It's not like he could swing around in here anyway.

"Some kid does a walk-by. She grabs a pair of sunglasses off the rack. It happens. I try to wave a security guard over to go after her. I can't leave the kiosk to chase down one shoplifter without leaving it open to ten more.

"But she suddenly stops dead in her tracks and screeches like a scalded cat. Her boots are stuck to the floor with webs. She's screaming how she could've broken her neck and she's going to sue the mall. Security is checking her bags and her pockets and asking if she has receipts for everything. People are laughing at her and looking around to find Spider-Man like he's just sitting around on the ceiling or something.

"But they don't even have him on camera. It's like he wasn't even there. But it had to be him. Nobody else does that web stuff. So where was he? I don't know!"

———

———

**Eyewitness Account #31**

Dr. Alvarez, surgical resident

Elmhurst Hospital Emergency Room

3:45 PM

"The whole thing was a perfect storm. The transport flight was delayed in Houston, then it got rerouted to JFK instead of LaGuardia, then it took an hour to get an ambulance, then it got caught behind a ten-car pileup on the expressway just outside the airport. There was some kind of chemical truck involved, so firefighters were locking it down and nobody was going anywhere for at least a couple of hours. The organ would still have arrived in time, but it might have been pushing the deadline for reduced viability.

"Spider-Man showed up at the accident. The ambulance driver got his attention and told him they were carrying a transplant organ to Elmhurst. Twenty minutes after the driver called in to say the organ was on the way, Spider-Man put the organ transport case on the reception desk right over there. We sent it upstairs to the transplant team. I heard the procedure was a complete success, with no complications.

"Spider-Man seemed to be exhausted when he came in. He covered ninety blocks in twenty minutes carrying a twenty-five pound case the entire way. We gave him a bottle of orange juice and some cookies from the blood donation center. Literally one minute after chugging the juice and eating five cookies whole, he was crawling on the walls and letting kids in the waiting room swing from webs he attached to the ceiling. He took off after about ten minutes.

"So he came from Rochdale, and I think he was headed west when he left. Does that help?"

———

———

**Eyewitness Account #33**

Martin, motorcycle mechanic

Fast Work Motorcycle Repair on 48th Street

4:35 PM

"See, I'm big on the underground racing circuit. I ride all over Long Island, the Bronx, up and down the Jersey Shore. I make okay money fixing bikes, but I make major cash racing 'em.

"These races move around, you know? Never the same place twice in a year. Four months ago it was the loop around Meadow Lake. Big smooth curves, a nice straightaway, a couple of tighter turns. It's a three lap speed course, a hundred to buy in, a thousand to the winner. I was thirty yards in front headed into the last lap when Spider-Man screwed it all up.

"I didn't even see him before it happened. I went under the bridge, then something yanked me off my bike, and then I'm hanging in midair, and my ride is hanging next to me. There's Spider-Man standing on top of the bridge. The riders behind me stop. Everybody is staring at me and my bike, swinging back and forth.

"He jumps down and says how we're all really cool but we're about to go full speed into a put-down. Sure enough, some amateur laid it down a couple hundred yards further along and took a few more with him. They were all standing, but there was metal all over the track. Nothing a bunch of pros like us couldn't handle, but he just had to play the hero. Didn't know enough to stay out of it.

"So now we hear sirens. Far enough away we could of finished the race and got out if we weren't all idling under a bridge like a bunch of weekend riders in the rain. Everybody else took off except me and one of the put-downs who couldn't get started again. Everybody else got away, and we got pinched. I got fined five hundred bucks on top of the hundred I put down for the race and the thousand I didn't collect, and I spent thirty days at Rikers Island. The boss held my job here for me, and my street cred went through the roof, but I'd still rather of won that race.

"I got no idea which way he came from, and as far as I'm concerned he can go to hell."

———

———

**Eyewitness Account #35**

Bobby, electrician

Con Edison truck on 31st Avenue

5:20 PM

"Well, about three months back a transformer blew and dropped a live power line on Grand Avenue in Elmhurst. Not a good situation, so I expected to find total panic going on when I got there.

"But nope. That Spider-Man guy grabbed some drywall from a construction site down the block, big sheets of the stuff, and dropped them on the broken cable. Held it down and put an insulated barrier between the cable and anybody stupid enough to go near it, which he didn't let anybody do. He even stayed until I got the power shut off at the substation to make sure everything was under control.

"Don't know where he came from, he was there before I was. I think he took off west toward Glendale."

———

———

**Eyewitness Account #37**

Lawrence, art school student

Woodside Train Station

6:10 PM

"Whaddaya mean 'stop talkin' street', yo? I am street! Know what uhm sayin'? Yo? No? Damn.

"I'm an artist. A painter. One of a million in this city, all scrambling to be noticed, all scrambling for a showing or a patron or even a short review in the arts section of the _Daily_ freakin' _Bugle_. So some of us — a lot of us — tag walls, cargo containers, trucks, whatever we can. People talk about New York City being a center of the arts and think they're talking about museums and galleries, but more than half the art in this city is out here in plain view of an unappreciative public.

"But even out here the competition is fierce. Finding a place that hasn't already been used, won't be undone quickly, and catches enough attention isn't easy. You have to find a unique canvas to stand out. My unique canvas is train cars. Not the sides — they strip those on a semi-regular basis. I paint on the roof. While it's moving.

"Catch an express train, you get as much as twelve minutes to work before it takes you someplace you don't want to go. Or somebody calls it in and the MTA cops show up. And in those twelve minutes, you have to keep moving in one direction — no going back over what you've already done, because you'd put footprints all over it. It takes meticulous planning, mad organization, and unparalleled technical skill to pull it off in one go. Which I happen to have.

"I've done eleven car-top works over the past couple of years. I was working on my twelfth when things went sideways. Literally. The car I was working lurched going through a track switch and I lost my balance. I was hanging over the side of the train, being dragged down by the weight of the paint cans on my belt. Ironic, huh?

"Somewhere around Boyd Avenue I saw Spider-Man. He ran down a cross street to the tracks, then he swung under them for a few blocks. Imagine The French Connection, but with a guy on webs. Then I saw him swing onto the tracks in a tight arc and start running. He actually closed some distance before he snagged the last car with a web and pulled himself on top of the train.

"Then he just ran down the center of the cars, jumping across the gaps until he got to me. He picked me up by my belt, launched us into the air, and landed in a web net in some trees on the edge of Bayside Cemetery.

"He turned out to be a nice guy. Above and beyond saving my life, I mean. He said he liked my art — no, really, he did — before he advised me to find a safer place to put it. We talked about prominent graffiti art around Queens, I suggested he check out some stuff in Brooklyn, he asked about some pieces in Ditmars I hadn't even heard of. I suggested he add some flair to his superhero outfit. He said he couldn't afford Tony Stark's tailor for the Iron Man suit. I said he looked like he couldn't afford Wilson Fisk's tailor for his orange jumpsuit. We had a good laugh.

"He picked up the train coming from the... uh, the west side of Liberty Avenue, and I think he said something about... Red Hook... when he took off headed... south? Yeah, that's it. South. I'm sure he was headed south."

———

———

**Eyewitness Account #41**

Candace, paralegal

Luminous Sky on Broadway

7:25 PM

"Oh, I've _seen_ the little _freak_.

"I waited in line for _two hours_ to get into the _hottest_ club in Queens and _only_ got up to the _alley_ when some _idiot_ drove down the _sidewalk_ on a _motorcycle!_ Everybody had to _jump_ out of the _way_. I broke a _heel_, and before I _even_ got my _balance_ back _Spider-Man_ came _swinging_ through and practically _knocked_ me _over!_ I mean, he didn't _hit_ me or anything, but I was _so_ startled I _fell_ into the _alley_ and landed in a pile of _garbage!_ Big _jerk_ didn't even _stop_ to see if I was _okay_...

"Spider-Man _and_ the motorcycle were headed _west_ on Roosevelt. Now _go away._"

———

———

**Eyewitness Account #45**

Mia, service station convenience store clerk

Roxxon Gas Charge Station, Astoria Boulevard

8:55 PM

"Oh yeah, Spider-Man was here all right. Shut us down for day on account o' those spy thingies he found.

"I was workin' the night shift for Reggie when Spider-Man just walks in the door like he's here to buy somethin'. But no, he says he was swingin' by when he just happened to notice somethin' an' he wants to ask a question. So I'm thinkin', oh boy, here it comes, this weirdo is gonna hit on me. But no, he asks me if anybody came to work on our card readers, an' if they did, did they get us to sign a work order. Well I dunno, but I call Sheila to see if she knows, an' she says there was a guy who came three days before, but nobody signed nothin'. He just did his thing an' left. So I tell Spider-Man what Sheila said, an' he says to come outside to one o' the pumps so he can show me somethin'.

"Well I go over, an' he puts his hand on the keypad, then he pulls his hand away real fast an' the keypad comes away with it! Like the keypad is stuck to his hand. So I'm about to give him an earful about wreckin' our machine, but I look where he's pointin' an' there's the keypad still on the pump! The one he ripped off it was a fake, for gettin' PINs. Then he does the same thing with the card slot, an' it's a fake slot on top of the real one. Then we go back inside, an' he does the same thing with the ATM.

"So then I just lose it. Peel the paint off the walls, make a nun cry, corrupt the youth o' America, go to confessional later that night, lose it. You know what that guy does? He waits until I'm done an' asks me if I'm okay. Can you believe it? Not only is he a crime fightin' technology genius, he's a gentleman.

"He says I should call the cops, the service company — the real service company — an' Roxxon headquarters. The cops come that night, look at the ATM, an' tell me I should smash the bogus electronics with a hammer an' shut down until the service company signs off on our card readers. The service guy comes out the next day, blesses the ATM, an' pulls more o' those skimmin' things off the pumps an' chargers. A week after, Roxxon calls the credit card companies o' everybody who used one o' our machines to watch out for suspicious activity. Spider-Man buys an apple fruit pie an' a cranberry juice. With cash.

"He came in the front door. Left the same way. Beyond that don't know don't care."

———

———

**Eyewitness Account #47**

Cameron, freelance writer

Starbucks on Broadway

9:30 PM

"You know, I'm something of a Spider-Man investigator, myself. I've actually written a couple of pieces on him for publication, contributed a few items to Web-of-Spider-Man-dot-org. Do you know it? You do. Great website, huh?

"So one thing I've noticed is if you examine the stories and the video clips, Spider-Man is most frequently coming from and leaving in the direction of LaGuardia Airport. I think he keeps a secret base of operations somewhere near the airport warehouse district.

"Anyway, the time I saw him was when the scaffold on the Alexander Building renovation almost fell down. Something got overbalanced or overloaded, and the whole thing was about to peel away from the side of the building. It would've fallen all over Junction Boulevard, but Spidey swung in and shored up the anchor points with webs. He held things together until the construction workers could get everything reattached, then took off swinging. Towards LaGuardia.

"Hey, would you like to read my novel? I've only finished the third chapter, but I think it's really starting to come together. No? Another time? No? No."

———

———

"Cameron the freelance writer" watched Jessica as she walked away. Once she was around the corner and out of sight, he brought up a window on his laptop. It looked just like a popular instant messaging app, but operated on an independent encrypted network with less than a thousand subscribers.

@SparklesFan#0 : finally happened

@CountdownGuy321 : who?

@SparklesFan#0 : jones

@CountdownGuy321 : ????

@SparklesFan#0 : jessica jones

@SparklesFan#0 : low rent manhattan private eye

@SparklesFan#0 : took down kilgrave

@CountdownGuy321 : dammit

@SparklesFan#0 : ??

@CountdownGuy321 : owe boss 10$

@CountdownGuy321 : how close?

@SparklesFan#0 : askg 4 enter/exit vectors to triangulate

@CountdownGuy321 : will it work?

@SparklesFan#0 : nope

@SparklesFan#0 : told half of queens I was doing same thing 2 months ago

@SparklesFan#0 : nobody tells anybody which way spidey comes or goes

@CountdownGuy321 : good work, don't use s-word

@SparklesFan#0 : srry

@SparklesFan#0 : instructions?

@CountdownGuy321 : maintain cover, continue monitoring, deflect attention

@CountdownGuy321 : do not make contact (!!!)

@SparklesFan#0 : how long?

@CountdownGuy321 : indefinite

@SparklesFan#0 : boss wants him isolated?

@CountdownGuy321 : boss wants him insulated

@SparklesFan#0 : from what?

@CountdownGuy321 : everyone like us

@CountdownGuy321 : afk


	7. NYCD Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

_One thing's for sure,_ Jessica thought as she considered her highly annotated map of Queens after a very long day of interviews. _Just about everybody in Queens is lying about Spider-Man._

It wasn't that any of the accounts of his heroics were false, aside from a few obvious exaggerations about his abilities. _Like webs can hold a car in the air._ It was very specifically information about his movements that was untrue. At least half the people she'd talked to gave non-committal or downright useless answers to which way Spider-Man was going when he was spotted. Of those that gave apparently useful responses, she was sure more than half of them actually gave intentionally misleading answers. She had seen video of several incidents that directly contradicted eyewitness testimony she heard that day. Other accounts had streets running in the wrong direction, or buildings in the wrong places. _And I know he isn't hanging around LaGuardia. That's just stupid._

It was almost as if there was a conspiracy of silence and misinformation surrounding Spider-Man. As if someone had organized the entire borough, warned them them that revealing too much about the local hero's movements might lead to his off-duty whereabouts being discovered. But there was no system, no cohesive design to the deception, no organized cover story. So not a conspiracy, per se. _Yeah, everybody in Queens decided all by themselves to cover for Spider-Man just in case somebody tried to find him._

Jessica poured herself a glass of bourbon, then took a long drink from the bottle before replacing it on the shelf. The warm sting of the alcohol spread from her throat into her head, from her stomach into her chest. She rolled her neck and shoulders, let the stress of a day spent walking and riding buses all over Queens — _Queens, for pity's sake!_ — talking to people who lied to her for no apparent reason just roll off in waves.

She flipped her laptop open to peruse her spreadsheets, looking up to the wall map for better visualization of the data she collected. There was something about the Forest Hills sightings that nagged at her, a trend she wasn't catching. Something about the early morning hits...

Jessica stood up and returned to the map, taking her drink with her. She used a blue highlighter to make the dots for early morning sightings stand out more clearly. When she finished, there was a third zone, a subset of the "home" area she established the day before. After inspecting the map closely, she smirked.

Half of Spider-Man's reported activity between six and seven in the morning was within a five block radius of the Forest Hills Station on the Long Island Rail Road. The LIRR ran through the area Jessica established as "home" and just north of the area she established as "work" for the elusive hero.

That was where Spider-Man caught the seven AM train five days a week.

Jessica raised her glass to the map in a mock toast. _Gotcha!_


	8. NYCD Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Technically, Jessica Jones was trespassing in the parking structure.

It was a private facility for a car dealership in Queens, three levels of "Wall-2-Wall Wheels! Wall-2-Wall Deals! Wall-2-Wall Steals!" That was the actual slogan blazoned on three banners stretched across the showroom side of the building. Three hundred new cars for the new model year gleamed in the early morning light spilling through the wire mesh covered windows of the garage. Sedans, coupes, crossovers, pickups, all in a variety of colors and trim packages. And every last one came with a car alarm, standard.

Now that Jessica knew where and when to find Spider-Man (generally speaking) she needed to get him to come to her. She had to get his attention. But a public announcement online, on the air, or in the papers would attract every fringe lunatic and curious sightseer in the city. He might show up if she created a big enough scene, caused a major disturbance or pretended to commit a public enough crime, but that would also draw a crowd, police presence, and media attention. She needed something big enough to draw Spider-Man, but something most people would ignore or avoid. Something commonplace enough that it would be fairly unremarkable, loud enough to be heard across several blocks, and annoying enough to drive casual onlookers away.

Car alarms. _Lots_ of car alarms.

A quick online search gave her an auto dealership within half a mile of the Forest Hills Station. A cursory look at their parking garage revealed all of the security was concentrated on the main entrance._ Not like anyone's going to throw a car off the roof to someone waiting on the sidewalk._ She walked to the corner furthest from the street, jumped to the top level, threaded her way between the cars and down the ramp to the middle level. As expected, it was an open space with two ramps (one up, one down) and a forest of concrete pillars. She walked up to one, regarded it carefully for a moment, pushed against it experimentally as if to judge its strength.

A well-placed, well-gauged kick shook the building without damaging the structure. It was just enough to set off half the car alarms in a twenty foot radius. She ran through the garage to the other supports, kicking each one as she passed, setting off more and more alarms. She ran back up the ramp to the roof level, finding her work there already done. Almost every car was already honking, beeping, and wailing at ear-shattering volume.

A running jump and Jessica was on a roof across the street, scanning the local skyline for Spider-Man. Two minutes later she spotted him, sprinting across rooftops and bounding over cross streets on the south side of Austin. Coming from the direction of the train station. _First try, Jones, perfect timing!_ Spider-Man stopped across from the garage, looking around for some sign of what happened to set off so many alarms at once. Jessica shouted to him, "Spider-Man! Hey, Spidey! Over here!" but the noise of the car alarms drowned her out. She leaped for the roof he was standing on, but before she even cleared the street her quarry turned and headed back toward the train station.

She had to get his attention, or chase him down. A running pursuit across the rooftops of Forest Hills was sure to attract attention Jessica neither wanted nor needed. And if she surprised him, she risked a misunderstanding-between-heroes fight cliche. So with a sigh of resignation Jessica took a deep breath, held it for a second, then gave her very best horror movie scream.

It almost drowned out the two hundred car alarms going off twenty yards away.

It also got Spider-Man's attention. He stopped, spun, and spotted Jessica. A strand of white fiber shot out from his wrist, fixed itself to the edge of the building he was on. He pulled hard, sending himself rocketing into the air toward her, over her head and behind her, where he landed heavily but ready to help.

"ARE YOU OKAY? ARE YOU HURT? WHAT'S THE MATTER?" He had to shout over the din still wailing and shrieking across the street.

Jessica shouted back, "I NEED TO TALK TO YOU!"

"WHAT?"

"I HAVE A MESSAGE FOR YOU!"

"WHAT?"

"I SAID --" Suddenly the noise from the garage started to quiet, the car alarms reaching the end of their cycles in groups, just as they had been activated. "I have a message for you. From a nurse at Mount Sinai."

"What nurse? What message? How did you get all those car alarms to go quiet at the same time? Wait, did you set all those car alarms off? How did you set them all off at the same time? Did you break into all those cars? Are you a car thief? Or a car... breaker? Should I be stopping you? Is this—"

Jessica tried to interrupt three times, but the masked figure in front of her did not stop talking. Finally, she put two fingers to her lips and whistled loudly, snapping him out of his stream-of-consciousness interrogation. "Hey! The nurse from the ER at Mount Sinai wants to give you a message. You met her the night the gang violence was going on."

"Which one? Parker or... Tempe?"

"Temple."

"Is she okay?"

The corner of Jessica's mouth quirked. "Huh. That's exactly what I said. She's fine. Big fan of yours now." She looked him over quickly. "She usually goes for bigger guys, though."

Spider-Man shifted his weight from foot to foot and suddenly didn't seem to know what to do with his arms. He settled on crossing them. "Well, that's... I mean, I'm... Did you say something about a message?"

Jessica was distracted. "You don't look like you were shot last week. No, actually, you do." She reached out to pick at a hole in his hoodie, but he waved her hand away. "You don't move like you were shot last week."

"I wasn't."

"Yes you were."

"No, I wasn't."

"Yeah, you were."

"How do you know? You weren't there."

"No, but Claire was, and she said you were shot. Twice."

"He missed me."

"No, he didn't. Look, Claire Temple knows what shot looks like, and if she says you were shot, you were shot. Twice."

"He... almost missed me..."

Jessica blinked at him. Hard. "He _almost_ missed you? What does that even mean?" She looked him over again, took in the small frame, realized they were the same height, and noticed the black spider on his chest was drawn on with marker. "How old are you, anyway?"

Spider-Man stood up a bit straighter, puffed his chest out, said, "Twenty-five," in a voice a full octave deeper than three seconds before.

"Are you seriously trying to make your voice deeper?"

"No." In the same false register.

"Oh my god, I cannot believe I am wasting my time on this. You are officially twelve years old," Jessica declared, poking him in the chest to punctuate her accusation.

"I am n—"

"Nah-ah!" The poking finger moved to a position a few inches from the bridge of Spider-Man's nose. "Message! Nurse Temple is grateful for what you did, but she's worried about you and she wants you to be safe. If you want help, be on the roof of the Powerhouse tomorrow night at midnight. End of message. Go do whatever you do when you aren't doing," she gestured at him vaguely, "this."

"Where's—?"

"West 58th and 11th, by Pier 98." Jessica stepped back, pushed her hands into her jacket pockets, and turned to leave. She walked to the edge of the roof overlooking the alley, paused, called back over her shoulder. "Try to be serious. He has less patience for bullshit than I do." Then she stepped over the edge to land lightly on the pavement three stories below. She reached the street just as Spider-Man leaped across the alley overhead, speeding back toward the train station.

Jessica pulled up the contact list on her smartphone as she walked. _Murdoch's forehead is gonna bleed right through his mask._ A wide grin spread across her face. _Serves him right._


	9. NYCD Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

Ned Leeds looked from one stairway to another for his best friend. The train was about to leave, the last train they could take and still get to school on time. Principal Morita was a real stickler about punctuality. If they were late, detentions would be assigned and parents (er, guardians) would be called. Ned's record was clean this year. If he made it through this semester with all "A"s and zero detentions, he would be rewarded with the (current) holy of holies: a three thousand piece LEGO helicarrier. With officially licensed SHIELD symbols and characters.

Ned stood firm in the way of the doors as the double chime warning changed to an insistent buzz. He was about to give up — before an irate conductor forced him to take a seat, or his fellow passengers shoved him onto the platform — when he saw Peter Parker top the farthest stairway onto the platform at a run. The harried teenager stuffed a last bit of blue fabric into his backpack as he pulled the zipper closed. Ned paused for a beat, then stepped back into the train at the same moment Peter cleared the doors of the last car. A little faster than he probably should have been moving without his mask on, but Ned had seen people dismiss or rationalize little displays of enhanced ability before.

A couple of minutes later Peter was beside him, unnecessarily holding the overhead bar for balance on the moving train. They were silent for a moment before Ned broke down. "So?"

Peter assumed an air of innocent confusion. "So, what?"

"What was it?"

"What was what?"

Ned refrained from growling. Peter enjoyed teasing him by withholding information about his exploits, in retaliation for the frequent streams of questions Ned presented him about his powers and activities. "What was up with all those—"

"Phone calls!" Peter suddenly interrupted. "Phone calls. Yeah, it turned out to be some lady. She had a message for me, and wasn't sure she could... sure she... had the right number." They were both usually pretty good about talking around Peter's costumed activities in public. But sometimes Ned slipped, especially when he was frustrated by Peter being intentionally clueless.

"What kind of message?"

"Tell you later."

"Lunch?"

"On the bleachers."

"Cool."

They rode in companionable silence for two more stops.

"Thanks for holding the train for me. Again."

Ned said nothing, just held up his fist. Together they performed their ritual handshake. Nine years of best friendship and counting, it was still as cool as it ever was.

———

———

Ned and Peter straddled a bench halfway up the visitor's side bleachers, on the thirty yard line furthest from the gym, where background noise from the street guaranteed no one could overhear them. Their respective lunches were spread out on the bench between them; it made sharing easier.

Ned took a dehydrated banana chip from Peter's side. Peter didn't like them very much, but May was a nurse, she sent her nephew to school with healthy lunches. Happily, Ned liked them just fine. "So who do you think she is? The car lady, I mean."

Peter shrugged. "She didn't say."

"Who do you think wants to see you? The mystery guy."

"She didn't say."

"You didn't ask? Anything?"

"She was kinda... intimidating. It seemed like she was mad at me for some reason." Peter took a bite of his sandwich — roast beef and Swiss cheese on wheat bread with lettuce and pickles — and continued talking around the mouthful. "Besides, I was running late for school."

Ned snorted. "Dude! How are you so cool and so lame at the same time?"

Peter threw a banana chip at Ned, who retaliated with his own pickle slice, which Peter picked off his shirt and ate. Ned shook his head. "You want your apple?"

Peter picked up the apple, held it close to his chest. "Pudding cup?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

"Done!"

They made the exchange happily, both items quickly pocketed for snacks later. The two friends continued eating until they were done and it was time to return to class. AP Chemistry for Peter, Computer Lab for Ned.

"What do you think she meant by 'help'?" Ned stood up and shouldered his backpack.

Peter swept their trash into his lunch bag. "No idea. Guess I'll find out tomorrow night."

Ned fidgeted for a moment. "Promise you'll be careful, okay? I mean, it could be a trap. What if this mystery guy attacks you? What if you have to fight him?"

"Then I'd rather do it as far from home as possible."


	10. NYCD Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

Daredevil surveyed the area, the northwestern edge of Hell's Kitchen. The limit of his self-appointed jurisdiction, unless circumstance required him to stray beyond.

He was on the edge of a concrete slab that was the seventh floor of a large construction project, across the street from the stated location of his meeting with Spider-Man. It was a good vantage point, even for someone whose sight was replaced by other senses. The unfinished building held little interest for residents of the relatively new Riverside skyscrapers. The street and sidewalks below were mostly free of late-night vehicle and pedestrian traffic, and the attendant noise. He was far enough above the Powerhouse that nothing on its rooftop was blocked from his preternatural spatial senses, but low enough that moving to it was well within his physical ability. Another concrete slab floor above created enough shadows from the ever-present glow of Manhattan's night skyline to conceal him from casual or accidental observation. There were even some folding chairs, a spool table, and a cooler — apparently set up by construction workers who wanted a comfortable place to take breaks during their shifts — but he was too busy observing Spider-Man to enjoy the makeshift amenities.

Daredevil heard him before he arrived, half an hour before midnight. At first, he wasn't sure what he was hearing. The distinct noise of fluid emerging from a nozzle at high pressure; the smack of something wet hitting a solid surface high above the street; the buzz of a taut cable vibrating as it cut through the air; the rustle and snap of soft fabric in a high wind. That same sequence, repeated again and again, coming closer and closer, with the occasional whoop of someone having the time of his life. When it was near enough the local horizon didn't obscure his spatial awareness, Daredevil realized it was a person swinging on some kind of synthetic cord he produced from devices on his wrists. He could smell a complex set of chemicals react with the air as they changed from aerosolized liquid to solid fiber in a fraction of a second, each time Spider-Man made a new cord to swing from.

Spider-Man had stopped on a rooftop across the street from the Powerhouse — across the street to the west, as opposed to Daredevil's position to the north. _Good plan, not enough lead time._ He'd kept to the shadows, just as Daredevil did. He'd observed the rooftop, just as Daredevil did. After ten minutes passed, he threw a fiber against the top of the building's sole remaining smokestack and swung down. He walked the entire length of the roof and back, then climbed up the smokestack and sat on the maintenance catwalk near the top.

Five minutes later, after he'd started swinging his legs, he took something out of a pocket in his hoodie. By the way he held it out at arm's length, then began moving and leaning around the top of the smokestack, Daredevil realized Spider-Man was taking pictures — _Selfies?_ — of the Manhattan skyline. He quickly finished and put the device away.

It was time to get down to business. Daredevil called out "Spider-Man" just loud enough to be heard across a medium-sized room. There was no reaction. He tried again. "Hey, Spider-Man. Over here. On your right." Still no reaction. _Well, so much for enhanced hearing._

He moved to a panel of switches, guided by the electrical hum in the wires. He had to take off a glove to feel the texture of ink on masking tape to read the labels by each switch. He hit the lights on the sixth, seventh, and eighth levels. That got Spider-Man's attention. _Definitely sighted, then._ It was only when Daredevil walked toward the edge of the slab and waved that Spider-Man finally saw him.

Spider-Man seemed to consider for a moment, then extended one arm to cast a line to a construction crane high above. He climbed as he swung to land next to Daredevil, and slid a short distance on the concrete. "Hey! Aren't you the Devil of Hell's Kitchen? Or, I guess it's Daredevil now, the news changed it a while ago. But you're him! That is so cool!"

Daredevil cocked his head. Even if the size and build of the person in front of him wasn't a dead giveaway, he could hear the tonal variations and smell the hormonal soup of an adolescent male. "Spider... Man?"

"Yeah, that's me. Are you looking for me? This lady in a black leather jacket said I was supposed to meet someone on the Powerhouse at midnight. I mean, it's not quite midnight yet, and we're across the street from the Powerhouse, but is this the meeting? Are you the guy?"

"Yyyess." Daredevil wasn't sure how to proceed, suddenly. He hadn't really known what to expect, but it certainly wasn't a teenager.

Spider-Man seemed unsure. "How do I know you're the right guy? I mean, the guy who wants to meet me? The one the lady meant, not some other guy who just happens to be here? Aw, man, I should have asked more questions... wait! I know! Who set this up? Who sent the lady who found me?"

"It was... the nurse from the ER where you got shot last week." Daredevil was reluctant to use Claire Temple's name, in case Spider-Man turned out to be a problem.

Spider-Man realized they were both being cagey. "What was her — no, wait, let's not bring names into this — umm, how many times did she say I was shot? How many times was I hit, I mean, not how many times did she say it." He tensed, ready to flee if he got the wrong answer.

Daredevil grinned, glad the boy seemed concerned for Claire, even though they'd barely met the one time. "Twice. She said you were hit by two bullets, but not seriously wounded. She told me she was worried about your safety, and she asked me to talk to you. Maybe see if I could provide some... guidance."

"Oh, man, that's a relief!" He visibly relaxed. "So, yeah. Hi. I'm Spider-Man." He put his hand out.

"Daredevil." He shook the offered hand. "I guess the first thing I should ask is..." he trailed off, distracted by a sudden noise several blocks away. It was loud, but inaudible to anyone but him at this distance. It also registered on his extra senses like a highly concentrated, rapidly dispersing shockwave, but there had been no explosion, not even the sound of an impact to accompany it. If the shockwave hadn't been located at the end of a pier, it might have been lost in the sensory clutter of buildings in the way. It happened again, this time accompanied by splashes and shouting, followed by gunfire. A third shockwave, and the shooting stopped.

"I have to go. Please wait for me here. I'll come back." He pulled a baton from a strap on his thigh, broke it at the center, and swung it in an arc with his right hand. Half of the stick flew to the catwalk Spider-Man was sitting on earlier, trailing a fine wire connecting it to the half he still held. When it was secure, he stepped off the edge of the slab and swung away in a long, low arc.

Spider-Man watched Daredevil swing to another building on the opposite side of the Powerhouse, retrieve the anchored end of the split baton with a practiced flick of his wrist, and take off across the rooftops at a run. "Oh, I don't think so!" he said, to no one. Then, with a running start, he leaped over the Powerhouse and cast a web at the building Daredevil landed on, chasing the Devil of Hell's Kitchen into the night.


	11. NYCD Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

_Five seconds_, Daredevil thought, _he didn't even wait five seconds_.

Of course he knew Spider-Man was following him. He heard his rebellious declaration, felt the air disturbance of his leap off the construction site. _That's one hell of a jump... later, Matt, later._ He heard the web device activate, smelled the chemicals react with the air, registered the arc of Spider-Man's swing.

He knew six people were in the Hudson River at the end of the pier, apparently knocked into the water by one or more of the shockwaves he'd felt moments ago. Two supported a spluttering and thrashing third between them, each swimming toward solid ground with opposite arms. Two swam straight at the site of the disturbance, calling the names of men who didn't answer. One treaded water while she shouted dire threats mixed with curses.

He also knew four men were moving fast toward the freight entrance of the pier. He heard the footsteps of three people, the heavy impact of work boots through the open doors. Two were close together, maintaining a constant distance, each occasionally adjusting his pace to match the other; it suggested they carried something between them, something valuable enough to hold onto while fleeing from whatever had just happened at the river end of the pier. The third outdistanced them, despite bumping into three very solid objects (judging by the thuds and grunts). He heard the whine of an overloaded forklift struggle to maintain its lead on the third man.

He knew yet another man waited behind the wheel of an idling truck outside the pier's warehouse-like structure, holding a lit cigarette, the driver side window rolled down, his left arm draped over the sill. _He doesn't know they're in a hurry, yet. That might buy me some time._ Until he knew otherwise, he would assume this was the escape vehicle.

Daredevil had to cover seven more blocks to reach the pier. He figured he'd cover three before the men on the pier reached the truck, two while they loaded their cargo and climbed in, and one more by the time the truck pulled away from the pier into late night traffic. He might be able to intercept the truck before it got up to speed, he might not, but he would try regardless.

Spider-Man kept pace with Daredevil — actually outpaced him, keeping his distance and taking a more circuitous path. _Probably thinks I don't know he's there._ Without the need to recover his lines, he saved precious seconds with each swing. Where Daredevil was usually faster on foot than swinging, typically using his baton and cable to cross gaps in his path, Spider-Man had a definite advantage in the air.

Daredevil decided to avoid DeWitt Clinton Park. Dropping to ground level gained him nothing. He would stick to the rooftops as long as he could, even though it meant he'd need to leap diagonally across an intersection. That wasn't an easy thing to do, but he had a running start; he was rested from waiting for Spider-Man to show up; and he nailed the timing when he threw his baton for purchase, then pulled hard on the steel line to propel himself the rest of the way to the far corner of the intersection.

His choice was validated when he heard his quarry loading the waiting truck faster than predicted. Three men got in the back with their cargo, while another joined the driver in the cab. He could just make out the passenger tell the driver, "Let's go! Take Eleventh to Forty-eighth, then turn on Ninth. We'll mix with traffic comin' out of the tunnel." About to head towards the water, Daredevil instead turned south, cutting an angled path across the rooftops to head the truck off before it got to Ninth Avenue. He couldn't outrun a truck even if it stuck to the speed limit, he could only hope it hit enough red lights that he could intercept it.

It did. Daredevil could hear the truck's progress (as well as some impatient swearing from the driver) as easily as he kept track its physical location. He stopped on a ledge above 48th, halfway between 11th and 10th Avenues, taking advantage of nearly ten seconds of lead time to catch his breath. As Spider-Man overshot the street, not realizing they had reached their destination, Daredevil leaped onto the top of a moving box truck.

The high-pitched whine of power flowing through a high-energy device came from the cab, just before the passenger door opened. The man who leaned out — young, muscular, sporting a quilted jacket and a shaved head — had some kind of metal apparatus on his right forearm, while his left hand closed on an exterior grab bar. "Not this again," he complained, before he spotted Daredevil moving toward him. "You're not the—"

Whatever else he said was lost when the man's forearm exploded with raw force. It appeared to Daredevil's spatial sense almost like a solid object expanding with impossible speed. He felt like he'd slammed into a steel wall as he was knocked backward off the truck. He felt like he'd slammed into a brick wall when he landed on the street.

"Dude, _not_ cool!" Spider-Man landed heavily where Daredevil stood a moment before. "Hey, I know you..." The device emitted another burst of physics, but Spider-Man fell backward onto the roof of the box truck, beneath the shockwave. He raised his head to look at his attacker. "I thought the other guy had that."

"I'm the Shocker, now!" The Shocker levered himself onto the top of the cab, then hopped onto the roof of the cargo box. He pumped his arm underhand, releasing another shockwave that missed the truck but forced Spider-Man to roll off the roof and cling to the side. "So stay outta our business!" He jabbed downward, again missing the truck, making Spider-Man drop even further down the side of the cargo box to avoid a full-body impact that would throw him against the asphalt like Daredevil.

A red minivan the truck was passing on that side could not avoid the shockwave. Shattered safety glass filled the air as the vehicle lurched sideways into the curb. The wheels caught and the vehicle left the ground, rolling sideways in midair over the sidewalk. Screams from inside the minivan were cut short when it hit the top edge of a concrete guard wall that stretched from the last building on the block to a high fence concealing an empty lot facing 10th Avenue. The screams began anew as the minivan teetered atop the wall for a brief second, then rolled away from the sidewalk.

Daredevil, already racing after the truck, saw Spider-Man drop to the pavement, spin, and spray webs from his wrists as the minivan toppled toward the train tracks below. This was one of several places in Manhattan where railroad tunnels were exposed to open air, odd chasms occasionally filled with noise and moving steel. It was only a two story drop, but not one the vehicle or its occupants would likely survive. Especially when Daredevil could sense air being pushed out of the tunnel by an approaching pressure wave.

The box truck continued on, the Shocker sketching a mock salute at them as it turned the corner.

The webs caught the minivan as it fell, spread along the length of the passenger side. Spider-Man slid on the glass-covered pavement until both his feet braced against the curb. He leaned back against the weight of the vehicle, groaning with effort. "I don't think I have this!" he snapped out, to no one in particular. "Somebody get them out!"

Daredevil moved to the sidewalk and slid under the taught webs like he was stealing second. He set half his baton in a crevice in the guard wall, then played out wire as he climbed over and down to the swaying minivan. There were three heartbeats in the vehicle. The driver's, racing wildly with panic and adrenaline; the passenger's, not as fast, likely only partially conscious; and in the back, the light but steady patter of an unconscious infant's. Daredevil kicked the remaining glass out of the windshield. The driver stared at him over the deflating airbag. "Are you alright?"

The driver nodded slowly. "What's happening?"

"You've been in a car accident. Can you move?"

"Yeah, I think so. Is Cindy...?" He looked up at the passenger, who was moaning groggily as she tried to lift her head.

"Focus on me. I need you to climb up through Cindy's window. I'll help you, but you need to hurry." He didn't mention he could hear the exterior panels of the minivan warping and straining against their attachment points.

The driver reached out to touch Cindy's face, where a thin line of blood trailed from a small cut on her scalp. "No, I have to help Cindy, I have to help Jesse, OH GOD, JESSE, OH GOD, HE'S NOT MOVING, JESSE—!"

Daredevil grabbed the panicked driver's jaw with his free hand and forcibly turned his head so they were face to face. "LISTEN! Cindy and Jesse are fine, just unconscious. I am going to get all of you out, but I _need your help!_ Can you keep it together for the next three minutes?" The wild look didn't leave the driver's eyes, but he nodded his agreement. "Good. What's your name?"

"...Bill..."

"Okay, Bill, I want you to hold onto the parking brake with one hand, put your foot against the car frame here," he smacked the empty windshield frame by the side mirror with his free hand, "and unbuckle your seatbelt. Don't touch your door."

Clumsily, Bill got into position. He fumbled with the seatbelt buckle until it released. With directions and assistance from Daredevil, he righted himself, climbed past Cindy, and hauled himself through the empty passenger window onto the web-covered side of his minivan. Daredevil moved up on his baton cable so he could boost Bill to the top of the guard wall.

"I want you to stay right here. I'm going to get Cindy. When I do, I need you to pull her up. You have to get her over the wall. I'll get Jesse."

He moved quickly, but tried not to touch the minivan if he could help it. He'd noticed shards of glass caught in the webbing holding it up, and some of the side panels were coming loose. Even if Spider-Man could hold the vehicle's weight, the plastics in its exterior couldn't. It was just a matter of time, and not much of that.

There was another concern, one becoming more urgent with each passing second. He'd been wrong about a pressure wave approaching through the tunnel. There were two, one coming from either direction. Two trains were about to pass on this exposed section of track, and there was a family car hanging in their path. If one train derailed, both would derail, and in the confines of the tunnel they would chew each other up like tinfoil in a shredder. Even at midnight, there would be crew and passengers, possibly dozens of casualties.

That would have to wait. Cindy was just awake enough to hold onto him as he reached in to release her seatbelt, but not awake enough to panic when he pulled her out through the missing windshield. He was able to use both hands to pull himself up and pass her off to Bill. "Get her down, and move to the building over there." He pointed to his right, then forestalled Bill's protest. "I've got Jesse. Go now!" He gave Bill a small shove for emphasis.

Daredevil kicked out and dropped, stopping when he was against the minivan's roof. He knocked the remains of the sun roof away, more glass clattering onto the tracks beneath him. More panel attachment points popped free; the front fender was completely exposed. He tried to reach the baby, but couldn't quite get to the buckles that held him secure in the built-in car seat. He crawled through the sun roof, using the driver's seat as a perch, releasing his hold on the baton. The straps were easily dealt with, Jesse retrieved (just beginning to move his arms and kick, which was a good sign) and tucked close against Daredevil's chest.

Just then, the passenger door sprang open and the minivan lurched to a new angle. Daredevil could hear desperation in Spider-Man's voice when he shouted, "Hurry up!" With a glance at the sun roof beside him and another at the sliding door above him, he made a split-second decision. He pushed the car seat aside with his knee, pressed the button to open the sliding door automatically, and jumped up with all the strength he could muster.

The motion of the door caused the panel to give way. Glass suspended in the webs cut the fibers as they shifted. As the minivan fell, Daredevil's momentum carried him and Jesse into the clear. He focused on the cable between the two halves of his baton, a bold solid ribbon among the soft (but no less sturdy) threads of synthetic silk. He tracked the path of the cable as it whipped and curled in the tumult of the falling minivan and the snapping webs, then his free hand closed on it, the reinforced palm of his glove preventing the cable from slicing his hand to the bone. The minivan crashed onto the train tracks, the impact an uproar of crumpling metal, shattering plastic, and scattering gravel.

He planted his feet against the concrete guard wall, hanging sideways with his arm extended, the baby held tight and his head supported. He backed up as far as he could, and ran in an arc to mount the top of the wall. With an assist from Spider-Man, who was suddenly standing sideways on the vertical concrete surface, looking down into the exposed tunnel at the ruined minivan on the tracks. _What the hell?_

The noise of two oncoming trains was rising fast, the squeal of brakes piercing through the thunder of diesel engines echoing and reechoing in the confines of the tunnel. "We've got to go. When the trains hit the car, they'll derail. There's nothing we can do." Daredevil slipped lightly to the sidewalk. Spider-Man did not.

Bill rushed forward and took Jesse, who was waking up and about to start crying, when Daredevil heard the sound of two feet hitting gravel on the railroad bed below. _What the HELL?_ It didn't matter if Spider-Man could push the vehicle onto one track or the other; if one train derailed, it would take the other one with it. He was about to climb back up onto the wall, then he stopped. He couldn't believe what his senses where telling him, but he reacted anyway, hustling Bill and the now wailing Jesse to the shelter of the building a few yards away.

They just reached Cindy on the front step when the minivan came up over the guard wall, spinning fast as it curved lazily over the sidewalk to land on top of a blue sedan parked at the curb.

_WHAT THE HELL?_

And then the trains were passing each other, the noise and motion and colliding slipstreams overwhelming Daredevil's senses. Spider-Man hadn't got clear before the trains arrived, he knew that for certain. He also knew that while a car could derail a train, a body wouldn't. It would be smashed and broken and dragged or thrown. Spider-Man might well have saved every life on both trains, at the cost of his own. Daredevil did climb up the wall then, and waited for the unintelligible cacophony to subside.

When it did, Spider-Man stood unharmed between the two tracks, his feet planted deep in the gravel, his hands pressed against his ears. _What. The. Hell?_ He looked up at Daredevil and threw his arms wide.

"Still think I need... guidance?" His words were cocky, but his voice (and heartbeat) betrayed receding terror and astonished relief.

Daredevil's mouth quirked into a grin even as he shook his head. "More than ever!"

Behind him and to his left, he heard Bill wonder out loud, "Is that our car?"


	12. NYCD Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Detective Sergeant Brett Mahoney took stock of the scene.

Fire fighters doused two cars — a red minivan on top of a blue sedan — with fire retardant foam and spread absorbent granules on the street to soak up any spilled or leaking gasoline or oil. An ambulance crew prepared to depart with a baby and his mother — prior occupants of the red minivan — for thorough examinations at Saint Clare's Hospital, and treatment for concussion, shock, lacerations, and contusions. Uniformed officers kept onlookers and reporters at bay at both ends of the block, and canvassed those onlookers for any actual eyewitnesses to the events. Another detective took a statement from the driver of the red minivan, while an emergency medical technician dabbed at his face with a sterile wipe to soothe the residual chemical burn of an airbag. Police photographers took pictures of the two cars, the guard wall above the railway, the glass all over the pavement. Chaos coming under control, order being restored after near-catastrophe.

He walked to the east end of the guard wall where a row of trees lined the train tracks. A chain link fence lined with plastic sheets extended the rest of the way to the corner. He stopped and made a show of looking at his smartphone while he silently counted to one hundred. Then he spoke aloud, still staring at his smartphone and simultaneously ignoring it. "What exactly did the minivan do, to deserve _that?_"

He heard a familiar voice come from the top of a trailer behind the fence. "How do you always know when I'm there?"

Mahoney snorted. "I don't. Whenever I see weird shit like this I just find a quiet spot, wait a minute, and ask a question to see if I get an answer." He looked up, but there was still too much fall foliage on the trees for him to see Daredevil through it. "I'm three for eight this month."

Daredevil snorted in turn. "The car was collateral damage. Some kind of handheld weapon that puts out waves of force. Five men in a box truck. They came from the cruise ship terminal, and turned north on Tenth."

"I figured this shit had something to do with that shit. Radio says they picked up eight on the pier, and harbor patrol pulled one out of the water." Daredevil had heard the chatter from the officers' earpieces. "On the docks, with that kind of firepower, means drugs, weapons, or human trafficking."

There was silence for a moment before Mahoney heard a response. "Let me know when you find out which. I'll be in touch."

A faint rustle in the leaves, and Mahoney was alone. He put the smartphone back in his pocket. "Let you know. You'll be in touch." He started back to the scene, to see if the driver had remembered anything that might help them find the men, the truck, and the cargo. "You're supposed to help _me_ do _my_ job, not the other way around..."

———

———

Daredevil could hear Spider-Man hiss with pain, hear glass slide against the mildly adhesive texture of bleeding flesh. Another piece of glass impacted the metal roof of the trailer at the 49th Street end of the empty lot. He'd smelled blood since the beginning of the minivan incident, but he'd been too busy to sort out whose blood it was. All three of the people he'd — they'd — rescued had cuts from broken glass, after all. But when Spider-Man came over the guard wall, it was obvious he was injured as well.

Spider-Man looked up, seated under the canopy of another tree, still holding one foot. "Is everybody okay?"

Daredevil was about to answer, but he decided to lawyer the moment. "Is that really what's important right now?"

"Well, yeah. They didn't ask to get involved in this. They were just minding their own business, living their lives. If anything, it's my fault they got hurt at all. I mean, they could have been killed and I—"

"Stop," Daredevil interrupted. "None of this is your fault. I jumped on the truck. That... Shocker... Shocker?" Spider-Man nodded. "Shocker came after me. You followed my lead. If I wanted you to do something different, I should have said something." He bowed his head for a moment. "And I _should_ have said something. Thank you for backing me up. I'm not used to working with other people."

Spider-Man shrugged. "Me either."

"To answer your question, I think they're okay. Bill, Cindy, and Jesse are alive, and the ambulances are taking them to the hospital right now. But you're hurt, too. Do you want me to flag down a medic?"

Spider-Man let go of his foot to but both hands up in a "hold on" gesture. "_No!_ No-no-no-no-no! I'm fine!" He stood up, obviously hurting, obviously favoring one foot. Daredevil heard the blood smear, the glass scrape, and bits of gravel grind against the metal of the trailer roof. "This is nothing. I'll just, you know, I'll walk it off."

Daredevil considered for a brief second. There was really no decision to be made, at this point. He simply needed to accept that he had already started down a path that would significantly impact his life. "Can you make it to Fogwell's Gym?"

"I... don't know where that is."

"Just follow me. Nice and easy. Don't hurt yourself any more than you have to."

———

———

"This is good. You can drop me off here." Claire Temple rummaged through her bag, pulled out a twenty, a ten, and a five.

The cab driver pulled over, stopped, and looked around the dark street. "You sure, lady? Dis ain't da best neighborhood in broad daylight, y'know..."

She held the money over his shoulder. "I'll be fine. I have friends here."

The driver shrugged as he took his fare. "If you say so."

Claire got out of the cab, shouldered her large cloth bag, shut the door. She smiled and waved at the cabby, then watched him drive away. When the cab was out of sight, she crossed the street at a fast walk, moved three doors down, and descended a short stairwell. The door was unlocked, as promised, so she went in, checking to see that the street was still empty.

Beyond the short entryway, Fogwell's gym was a large open space interrupted by a few support beams. Small punching bags lined half of one wall, larger bags hung from chains along the other half. Three weight benches occupied a back corner, flanked by racks of dumbbells. Padded mats dominated most the empty space in the room. Closer to the front of the gym was a full-size boxing ring. The only light came through the windows at the front of the gym, but it was enough to get around the room without tripping or bumping into anything. Low voices came from the far side of the ring.

"...and then he dropped me in Little Neck Bay! It took me ten minutes to swim to shore."

"It's a good thing you know how. And you haven't seen the flying man since then?"

"No, never."

"But this new Shocker was at the weapons sale."

"Yeah, but he just had a regular gun that time."

"Is this a private party, or can anyone join in?" Claire stepped around the corner of the ring and set her bag down. The two costumed vigilantes sat in folding chairs. Daredevil held a chemical ice pack to one shoulder. Spider-Man had ice packs taped to both shoulders, and his bare feet were submerged in pans of alcohol tinged pink with blood. "Hi, Spider-Man. Nice to see you again."

"Oh, hey, Nurse Temple..." Spider-Man seemed off guard for a moment, until he turned his attention back to Daredevil. "Dude! You called Nurse Temple?" He slumped in his chair. "I can't believe you told on me..."


	13. NYCD Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

Bestman Salvage usually maintained regular business hours, especially at its Brooklyn reclamation center. But when the "special projects team" needed to fulfill an order for "recovered technology" in a hurry, an all-nighter or two was not unusual.

Phineas Mason, an unassuming man in a rag sweater and a knit cap, tinkered with one of three ongoing projects at his workbench. He had a soldering iron in one hand, a coil of gold wire in the other, and a lighted headband visor with magnifying lenses. Occasionally, an assistant would bring something from their own workbench to get approval or assistance before continuing their work.

On the other side of the warehouse space, Adrian Toomes oversaw a makeshift assembly line, offering encouragement, direction, and praise as warranted at each station. He could see they would need more energy cores for this production run. It seemed liked they never had enough energy cores, these days.

Toomes ran a hand through his thinning hair. The Maryland job had been a huge success. Even so, they'd gone through half of it in a couple of weeks. Business was good; so good, he would have to make another collection run, and soon.

He looked at the raised platform between the engineers' workbenches and the production assembly area. The wing apparatus was wrapped in shadow, perched on its landing frame beneath sliding doors in the roof, fierce even in repose. Toomes felt like it was waiting for him, waiting to take to the sky, waiting to go on yet another scavenger hunt for high-tech salvage Mason could turn into weapons.

Weapons _and_ other useful devices, but mainly weapons.

The main vehicle door began rattling upward. Mason, Toomes, and some others moved to a safe spot beside the loading area, while the rest looked up from their work. A few palmed weapons concealed in convenient spots at their work stations, but put them away when they saw the plain white box truck pull in. The rolling door rattled down again.

Toomes smiled as his people exited the truck. Henry Schultz — _thank goodness he doesn't want me to call him 'Shocker' like that idiot Brice_ — came around the front from the passenger side, his hands raised in the air, palms out. Some of his co-workers gave him high-fives as they all headed to the back of the truck. He stopped in front of his boss.

"How'd it go?" Toomes asked, pleased the vehicle had come back in one piece.

"Sellers pulled a fast one. There were three other buyers for the same goods. It was us, some dudes wearin' Armani suits, some guys who used to work for Fisk, an' Elijah Stern's crew."

Mason interjected, "I hate that guy!" as he passed by.

"It wasn't so much a sale as an auction."

"Dammit!" Toomes spat. "I do not _believe_ this crap!" He grabbed the edge of a steel drum — thankfully empty — and pushed it over. It rolled until it came to rest against the leg of a workbench with a hollow clang. He gathered his composure to continue. "Okay, they crossed us. Of course they did. So, what happened?"

"Well, the guys in the suits had the most cash, so that was that. But while they were loadin' up the boxes, Fisk's guys—"

"Fisk's ex-guys," Mason corrected, climbing into the truck.

"—pulled out hardware an' said they were takin' everything. The goods, the money, everybody else's money..."

Toomes swiped his hand down his face. "And then you knocked them on their asses."

"Knocked 'em on their asses," Shultz intoned simultaneously with his boss, nodding his head every other word. He smiled at the memory of bodies flying into walls and splashing into the river.

"Of course you did."

"We grabbed the goods an' got out." Schultz paused. "And then, well, that Daredevil cat showed up." Toomes was silent. "With Spider-Man." Toomes remained silent, his face turning pink. "So I knocked 'em both off the truck. Left 'em lyin' in the street." A vein began to throb on Toomes' forehead.

"Hey, it all worked out." Schultz reached into the truck, hauled one of the long boxes out, let it slam on the floor. "We got all six boxes." He knelt down to open the lid. Inside lay a mechanical approximation of the human form, an android body in its coffin. A fist-sized hole in its chest revealed shattered innards; half the head was torn away; the left arm ended at the elbow. "We got _six_ Ultron drones!"

"No we don't," Mason said.

Toomes closed his eyes and lifted his face toward the ceiling, his shoulders slack. Schultz looked up at Mason in the back of the truck, where he knelt beside an open box. "_What?_"

"This isn't an android. It's just a bunch of android parts. This box is mostly legs." He held up a bent rod, mechanical joints at either end connected to hydraulic cylinders and steel cables, then dropped it back into the box with a crash. He pointed to another open box. "That one is all chest plates." He lifted the lid of a box on his other side. "And this one," he rooted around inside for a moment, then stood up, "is full of elbows."

Schultz threw his hands up, turned, and walked away from the truck. "You can't! Trust! _Anybody_!"

Toomes' hands balled into fists, his face a mask of restrained fury. Everyone was still and silent, waiting to see if he would remain calm, or vent his rage. A couple of people risked taking quiet steps backward. After a moment his hands unclenched, his eyes opened, and a strained smile appeared on his face. "Just get everything unloaded. And... see what you can do with it." He walked toward the platform where his flight harness rested. Checking the systems relaxed him — he needed to relax, just then. Relax, and think.

Mason watched him go, then looked at one of his assistants. "What am I supposed to do with a box of elbows?"


	14. NYCD Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

"When I asked you to help him, I meant 'help him stay safe', not 'help him get hurt again'," Claire Temple scolded as she picked bits of glass and gravel from the sole of Spider-Man's foot. Most of the debris was only embedded at the surface, but some was deeper. She wanted a clear field to go after those pieces, and she wanted to distract her patient as much as possible. They'd turned on the lights in that part of the room, and found a desk lamp and an extension cord, so she could see what she was doing.

Daredevil observed her work in his unique way. He could hear the tweezers close on glass or stone, smell the trace amounts of sepsis (but much less than expected) clear as each tiny intrusion was removed, and registered the angle and motion the nurse used each time. As often as he had to pluck foreign objects out of his own flesh, it was a good idea to collect as many pointers as he could. "I told him to stay put. He was the one who decided to butt in," he exaggerated a false tone of annoyance, before dropping it in favor of well-deserved praise with just a hint of "gotcha" for her benefit, "and save a bunch of lives."

"I just kept the car from falling," Spider-Man demurred. "You were the one who _ow!_ got everybody out." He flinched with his body, keeping his foot still. Claire appreciated the effort, as it made her job easier. "You should have seen him. He had his climbing cable in one hand, a baby _gah!_ in the other hand, and then he just ran up the wall and over and he was like _oh!_ like 'here's your baby, citizen!'" Claire smiled. The boy's enthusiasm was infectious.

"I said no such thing. And I have never called anyone _'citizen'_ in my life." Daredevil bobbed his head very slightly from side to side. "At least, not in that context."

Claire's smile just grew, even as she got a firm grip on the last (and largest) piece of glass. Her patient tensed up, letting out a high-pitched groan or a low-pitched whine, either of which she considered entirely justified. There was no good angle to draw the jagged shard out, she could only pull and let it slice its way free.

Daredevil winced inwardly at the slight _slurp_ as it came free, thankful his young... cohort?... couldn't hear it. Probably. He reached out to squeeze the boy's shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting way.

"Okay! Okay. That's the last of it," Claire announced. She irrigated the wound with a splash of sterile saline, then probed the area with latex-clad fingers to be sure. Satisfied, she applied a bandage and wrapped the foot in gauze. "Now let's get that shirt off."

"Thanks, Nurse Temple, I — wha-a-a-at?"

Claire stood, stripping off the surgical gloves and dropping them into the bucket that held the used swabs and other medical trash from her ministrations. "Take. Off. Your. Shirt. You left my ER with two gunshot wounds. Did you think I'd just forget that?"

"Aaahh..."

Claire glanced at Daredevil. "Can I get a little support here?"

"Umm, yes. Yes. You should let her take a look." Daredevil leaned closer to Spider-Man, said in not quite a whisper, "I don't think she'll let either one of us out of here until you do."

"Got that right," Claire muttered.

Spider-Man's face turned back and forth between the two, before stopping on Claire. Her expression told him she would not tolerate any objections. "Fi-i-ine. Jeez." He pulled his shirt and hoodie off with both hands, careful not to catch his mask or goggles on the fabric as it passed over his head. He sat up straight on the folding chair to keep his bare skin off the cold metal back.

Claire picked up the desk lamp to direct the light on Spider-Man's left arm. "What the...?" She took his elbow, turned his arm, compared the entry and exit wounds she had seen less than a week ago. "This is..." She moved to his right side, lifted his right arm to view his ribs. She ran a finger along the graze he'd suffered. "This isn't possible."

Spider-Man craned his head to look at the mark on his ribs. "What?"

Claire looked into his scratched-out goggles, then at the blacked out eyes of Daredevil's mask. "These are the same wounds from last week, but they look like they've been healing for months!"

Spider-Man seemed confused by her reaction. He looked between the two adults. "Well, yeah. I told you I was okay."

"Wait a second." Daredevil caught his attention. "This is normal for you? Healing from serious wounds like these in a few days?"

"She said they were minor wounds, and yes, all the time. I mean, not _all_ the time, I don't get hurt _too_ often, but when I do it always takes care of itself pretty quick. My feet will be okay in a day, day and a half."

Claire sat back on her heels, astonished. She stared at him for a long moment, until he started to fidget. She shook her head suddenly, breaking out of her reverie. "Tetanus!"

"What?"

"When was the last time you had a tetanus booster?"

"Ehh... No idea."

She pulled the cloth bag with her medical supplies into her lap, pulled a sterile swab and a syringe out, put the bag aside again. "Well, you are getting one right now!"

Spider-Man looked at Daredevil. "Uh, dude? Little help?"

He put his hands out. "Don't look at me. She gave me a jab two months ago. Would not take 'no' for an answer."

In a moment it was done. Claire gathered up her things while Spider-Man dressed again. Daredevil stood up and put the spent ice packs in the bucket.

"So, yeah, this has been great, but I really need to head home. I've got, uhm, an early day tomorrow, so, I kinda gotta go or I'm gonna get in a _lot_ of trouble. With my boss! At my work." Spider-Man took a tentative step backwards toward the door.

Claire gave him a skeptical look but said nothing. Daredevil put a hand on Spider-Man's shoulder again. "Claire got in touch with you because she was worried about you. I'm glad she did. You're doing good, but I think with a little training and a little practice at some basic skills, you could be doing great. If you're interested, come back here at eleven on Wednesday night."

"Really? What kind of training? What kind of skills?"

Daredevil interrupted before the boy could really get going. That much he'd learned already. "We'll figure that out together. You head home. I wouldn't want you to get in trouble. With your boss." He smiled.

"Huh? Oh, yeah! Thanks, Mister Daredevil, I'll see you on Wednesday. And thanks, Nurse Claire! See? You don't need to worry anymore... I'm getting trained by the Devil of Hell's Kitchen!" With that he waved to them both and jogged out the door, only limping a little bit.

Claire waited in silence. She knew Daredevil could smell and hear a person from a considerable distance away, but she thought it would help if she didn't make noise that might distract him, or interfere with his preternatural senses. After a moment, he pulled off his mask, rubbed a hand through his hair a few times to undo his "helmet head". "He's headed east on those... web lines of his."

"That kid might heal fast, but I am not happy about his weight. He's got muscles, but he's lean. Too lean. His ribs are starting to show, and—"

Matt Murdoch laughed. "We are so damn lucky!"

Claire was confused. "Lucky? I don't understand. What's funny? What's lucky?"

"Us! Him! God, Claire, that... kid... is _wildly_ enhanced! He has increased strength, incredible reflexes, the webs... he sticks to walls!" Matt paced beside the boxing ring. "He followed me into a fight without even asking what it was about, then quit the fight to save a car full of strangers. He jumped in front of two moving trains to keep them from crashing. And when it was over, he was still more concerned about the people from the car than he was about the men we were chasing." Matt stopped pacing, turned back to Claire.

"I told you he was a hero. That's why I thought you should meet him." She said the words slowly and clearly, as if speaking to someone who had difficulty understanding English.

"He _threw_ a _car!_" Matt put a hand on his forehead. "I don't know how or where he got that kind of power, but I thank God he's the one who has it. With those abilities, he could probably do — or take — anything he wanted. There are only a handful of people in the city who could stop him. But the only thing he wants to do is help people! That is..." He laughed again.

"Claire, if that's not a miracle, it'll do until one comes along."

———

———

Ned Leeds was dreaming about competing in the Academic Decathlon finals in Washington, DC, the tournament Midtown School of Science and Technology had won a few weeks before. (Go, Tigers!) Only in the dream version, he wasn't wearing any clothes, and nobody had noticed. Yet.

Before anyone did, he was startled awake by his phone. He left it on vibrate when he went to bed, falling asleep with it in his hand. His best friend was going to a mysterious meeting with a mysterious stranger in the dead of night on the other side of the city. As unofficial "guy in the chair", Ned was on call. Secretly.

A text alert had woken him. He pulled up the incoming message. It was one word.

: Daredevil :

Then another text.

: tomorrow - lunch - bleachers :

Ned goggled at the words on the screen. He struggled to remain silent in the darkness, lest he wake his parents, but finally hissed, "Dude! You _suck!_"


	15. NYCD Chapter 15

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

A wicked grin played across Adrian Toomes' face. "Get your hands off my daughter, Pedro!"

Peter Parker and Liz Allan, hands clasped but seated in different chairs in the spacious but comfortable room, looked up at the smiling man. Liz's dad — step-dad? Peter wasn't sure, and it didn't matter either way, so he didn't ask — leaned against the wall separating the foyer from the living room where the pair were talking. By their casual demeanor, he knew he hadn't interrupted anything too private for their comfort, or too intimate for his. Thank goodness.

"Da-ad! Stop it! He'll think you don't like him..."

Peter squeezed her hand gently. "No, it's okay. He only calls me 'Pedro' when he's kidding around. When he calls me 'Peter', that's when he's serious."

"Right you are, Peter. But seriously, both of you, wash up, come in, sit down." Adrian stepped back from the doorway. "Dinner's ready."

———

———

Dinner was lasagna, roasted vegetables, and garlic rolls. Peter was on his third helping of each.

"Whoa, slow down there, Pedro!" Adrian laughed. "Don't they feed you at school?"

Peter froze, a forkful of food halfway to his mouth. "I... It's kind of a... metabolic condition." He lowered the fork to his plate. "I, um, I'll grow out of it, someday, but I eat more food than just about anybody else. I could give Kong a run for his money!"

Liz chimed in. "Kenny. He's a linebacker. And a heavyweight wrestler. He eats like it's his job."

"I don't, well, I don't like to do that at school, though. You know how high school is." He looked at the two adults. "Anything different is bad. Unless you're a jock. Or cool, like Liz."

Doris Toomes noticed Peter didn't look at Liz to gauge her reaction to the compliment. He wasn't trying to win her approval, he genuinely liked her. She touched Peter's shoulder gently. "Don't pay any attention to him, Peter. I've never met a teenage boy who didn't eat like a starving man. You have as much as you like." He resumed eating, albeit a bit slower. "But save room for dessert. Liz made a cherry cobbler last night." She leaned closer, faked a whisper. "I think she's trying to impress you."

"Mo-omm..!" Liz all but made shushing motions with her eyes. "Didn't you have a big meeting at work today or something?"

The older woman leaned back and gave her daughter a sympathetic look, more for the transparency of the topic change than for embarrassing her in front of her boyfriend. But she indulged the girl, telling Adrian about progress made on business dealings and anecdotes about people from the office. He listened attentively, asked for details about her work, inquired about coworkers he knew. Eventually the topic came around to Adrian's job, city and private contracts his company was working or pursuing, eccentric characters he worked with. During a pause, Liz tried to work Peter back into the conversation.

"You know, Dad, Peter is into salvage, too."

Adrian stopped eating, blinked, put his cutlery down beside his plate. He wiped his mouth with his napkin, put it back in his lap, then folded his hands, elbows on the table. "Is that right, Peter? Are you," his voice took a steely edge, "_into_ salvage?"

Peter's eyes darted between Liz and her father. He felt like he'd said something wrong, but he hadn't said anything. "I don't know if I'd call it that, really. I just, when I see something like a microwave or a DVD player somebody threw out, I like to see if I can fix it. If I can, I sell it on eBay. I'm sure that's nothing like what you do." He looked at his plate. "I'm just a dumpster diver, really."

"A dumpster diver?"

"That's what Flash calls it." He pushed a noodle with his fork.

"Peter, look at me." He waited for the boy to meet his eye. "That is exactly what I do. I take broken things that people don't want, clear them away, fix what I can, sell what I can. It may not be glamorous, but it put this roof over our heads and this food on our table."

"Well, I only make enough for lunches. Haircuts. Snacks, movies. That kind of thing. It's just me and Aunt May now, so I try not to put too much strain on the budget. I know what nurses make in a year. I looked it up online."

Adrian's smile returned. "You're a man who pays his own way. I admire that, Peter."

"And one who provides for his family." Doris smiled at Liz, then Peter. "Nothing is more important than family." She reached out to squeeze her daughter's hand.

Adrian raised his glass to his wife and sipped. He looked at Peter again. "Who's 'Flash'?"

Liz answered for him. "That's Eugene's nickname."

"Eugene. Eugene..." He pointed at his daughter with his fork. "Not the same Eugene from last year?"

"Yes, _that_ Eugene. Drop it, okay?"

Adrian leaned into the back of his chair. "Oh, Pedro, that guy—!"

"Dad..."

"Adrian! Don't embarrass your daughter."

He threw his hands up. "All right! All right! I'm just saying, my gumdrop's taste in men has definitely improved."

"_Dad!_"

Adrian winked at Peter, his grin wicked again.


	16. NYCD Chapter 16

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

Carl Newman was not at home.

Carl Newman did not wake on linen sheets. He did not take an entirely too long shower in piping hot water under three separate massage heads. Did not dry himself on Egyptian cotton towels an inch thick. Did not pull on a blue silk robe over blue silk pajamas, all just slightly too big for him. Did not fix eggs and bacon in an iron skillet over a gas flame. Did not enjoy said eggs and bacon by a picture window overlooking the Ramble in Central Park. Did not put on one of two dozen blue wool suits, one of three dozen silk ties, one of a mere dozen pairs of Oxford shoes, and a pair of black cotton gloves that did not belong to Carl Newman.

Carl Newman did not take ten minutes to make sure his face and hair were perfect before he ventured out of the apartment. He did not take the elevator to the lobby. Did not greet the concierge (Susan) and the doorman (Steve) by name as he collected yesterday's mail and today's paper. Did not return to the apartment, toss the mail in the trash, and lock the door firmly behind him. Did not change into comfortable jeans and a sweatshirt. Did not spend the next two hours reading the paper and sipping fine Scotch.

Carl Newman did not send out for a small "very veggie" (hold the mushrooms) from Piece'a Pisa Pizza. He did not pay cash, nor did he over tip the delivery person, despite their taking over an hour to deliver from only a block and a half away. Did not relish every bite of four slices. Did not wash it down with a crisp Sauvignon Blanc from the back of the refrigerator. Did not binge watch four episodes from season three of _Stranger Things_.

Carl Newman did not open an oversized laptop computer on the coffee table at two o'clock. He did not activate three layers of encryption before inserting a memory stick with the URLs and access codes of some highly illegal websites buried deep in the internet. Did not smile a crooked smile as names, credit card numbers, and other personal data cascaded down the screen.

Carl Newman was not at home. He was three days into a two-week Caribbean cruise. Enjoying warm sun and tropical breezes and ocean vistas and all-you-can-eat buffets.

Carl Newman did not lace his fingers together, nor did he stretch his arms and turn his palms out to crack his knuckles. He did not hold up his hands to wiggle his fingers dramatically. Did not address Carl Newman's pale reflection on the computer screen.

"Now, who shall we be today...?"


	17. NYCD Chapter 17

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

Fogwell's Gym stood dark but not empty, a faded neighborhood institution in the middle of the block. The lights were out over the door and the painted sign, but street lamps cast shadows across the front of the building and through the windows. Occasionally, the headlights of a passing car or truck cast a moving lattice of light and shadow across the gym's interior.

Deep inside the main room, barely discernible in the gloom, two shadows moved independent of outside illumination. From one side of the gym to the other and back, keeping to the mats beyond the raised boxing ring, avoiding the weight benches in one corner. They kept a more or less constant distance of six feet between them, the smaller shadow responding to the movement of the larger, retreating when it advanced, following when it retreated.

Daredevil quickened his pace, causing Spider-Man to stumble slightly as he backpedaled away. "I can hear your heel impact every time you take a step. Every time your heel touches the floor, it slows you down." He moved to the side, circling Spider-Man, forcing him to pivot to maintain facing. "Every time you plant your heal, you reset your balance." Daredevil charged. Spider-Man fell. "The more often you reset your balance, the more likely you are to lose your balance." He extended a hand.

Spider-Man took the hand, let the older man haul him upright. "Isn't that kind of how walking works? Heel-toe, heel-toe, one foot in front of the other, like that?" This wasn't the first time he'd fallen this night. It was getting old.

"Stay on the balls of your feet. Good footwork is focused on the toes, not the heels." Spider-Man bounced on his toes a few times. "It also relieves a lot of impact stress from your knees. Now, follow!" Daredevil moved a few steps back, resuming their footwork drill.

Spider-Man returned to mirroring Daredevil's moves around the mats, now with an exaggerated spring in every step. It was a solid improvement, not counting the the forced bouncing. He had a number of bad habits that would have to be broken — his stance was frequently too narrow or too wide, and he took far more steps than he needed to, and so on — but he adapted quickly, and most importantly he listened.

"Much better, but don't let your stride cross, front-to-back or side-to side. If your legs get tangled up you'll be on your butt again, or worse. Good footwork is essential to fighting effectively."

The shadows continued to move inside the gym as the night continued to deepen outside the windows.

———

———

Spider-Man sailed through the air, over four lanes of asphalt and two concrete sidewalks, all empty of traffic at this late (or early) hour. He slid to a halt on the next rooftop, gravel grinding under his feet.

"So how does sticking to things work on a loose surface like gravel?" Daredevil asked, leaning against an HVAC unit. He'd followed Spider-Man's progress as he sprinted a circuit around the city block. Nothing but rooftops, no webs allowed, as fast as he could go.

"I can... stick to the gravel..." Spider-Man panted, "but only the bits... I'm touching... So the bits I'm touching come with me... and slide against the bits I'm not touching."

Daredevil considered for a moment. "But that night with the trains, you didn't slide then."

Spider-Man straightened up, having already got his wind back. "Well, before I tossed the car, I dug my feet into the gravel until I got to the surface underneath. A lot of Manhattan is built on solid bedrock. That I can stick to just fine."

"Clever. Let's head west, toward the river. Keep aware of where you're jumping to. New Yorkers love to put all kinds of things on their balconies and rooftops. Potted plants. Patio furniture. Hammocks. Solar panels. Satellite dishes. Telescopes. Bicycles. Pet enclosures. Chicken coops." He shook his head. "Believe me, you do not want to crash into a chicken coop. If the people who set it up don't get you," Daredevil paused, remembering, "the chickens will."

———

———

"That's good, but jab from your shoulder, like this!" Daredevil demonstrated, exaggerating the motion for effect. His fist struck the heavy bag once, twice, three times in quick succession. The chain holding the bag up clinked with each blow, the bag itself jerked with each impact. "Now you."

Spider-Man was still in his boxing stance at another heavy bag, one of four lined up along the gym's wall. He lashed out at the bag just as he had been shown, making it dance in time to the beat of his fist, then stepped back.

"Feel the difference?"

"Yeah... that's _way_ better!"

"The jab is your fastest punch. My," Daredevil hesitated for a scant second, then continued, "father called it 'the lightning'." He moved to the other side of his bag, so Spider-Man could see his other side. "And he called the cross," he punched the heavy bag with his other hand, swinging his torso from the hip, "'the _thunder'!_" He repeated the move. The bag swung crazily with each punch. He caught it to help it settle, swinging in smaller and smaller arcs. "Dad could be... a bit theatrical."

Spider-Man mimicked the move, making the bag swing almost up to the ceiling. He caught the bag in both hands, held it still, put it back in its rest position.

"The jab is always the lead hand. The cross is always the rear hand. The hook can be either." He demonstrated, alternating hands and batting the heavy bag back and forth. "So can the uppercut," more alternating punches, "but most people find it easier to use the rear hand." He gestured to his student. "Show me." Spider-Man pummeled the heavy bag in front of him. "These punches are slower, but they land with more force. Remember to use your shoulder with that lead hand... That's it. The lead hand is speed, the rear hand is power."

———

———

A night in the gym. Spider-Man arrived first this time — let himself in through a skylight on an upper floor — and warmed up for a bit. When his... instructor... arrived, they squared off.

"Keep both hands up." Daredevil assumed the classic pugilist's pose. "From here, you can protect your face," he brought his arms up and closer together, "or your body," he brought them down, elbows tucked against his ribs, "or intercept your opponent's punches," he finished by demonstrating a series of forearm blocks. Then he started to bob and weave. "But you're better off not getting hit at all, if you can help it. Move from the waist to avoid getting hit, and use your return motion to add power to a counterpunch." He ducked to the right, leaned hard into a right cross against the air, then relaxed and stood straight. "I'll go through those again, and you follow along."

"I'm actually pretty good at not getting hit," Spider-Man said. "I just do this!" He leaped straight up, performing a half flip and half twist so they still faced each other when his feet found purchase on the ceiling, some twelve feet up.

Daredevil stepped toward the inverted figure, his face turned up to maintain the illusion of looking at him. Suddenly, he reached up and lightly slapped the boy across the face, which was still within easy reach. Spider-Man dropped to the floor with a half-cartwheel, surprised and chagrined.

"I, um, I usually have a little more room. Than this. When I do that."

"But you don't have more room now. You didn't have more room when you got shot. And you might not have more room the next time someone comes at you."

Spider-Man tried to keep any whine out of his voice when he muttered, "It's not like your 'no powers, no contact' rule lets me show you what I can really do." He mostly succeeded. Mostly.

Daredevil held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not saying you don't have the ability to get out of harm's way. Clearly you do. Raw ability and enthusiasm have carried you this far, but if you develop the skills to go with them..." Daredevil spread his arms. "Well, you wouldn't have to rely on that enhanced healing so much."

Spider-Man considered for a brief moment, spread his own arms wide in surrender, then dropped them back to his sides. "Okay. Fair point. Getting hit does suck. Show me again?"

———

———

Another night in the gym. Spider-Man was positioned between two heavy bags, alternating between them as directed.

"Switch! Switch! Switch! And, stop. Good. You've been practicing."

Spider-Man rotated his left shoulder, working out a slight twinge. He was much more used to pulling with those muscles, holding onto his web lines or lifting heavy objects. Aggressively throwing his arms forward to punch was unfamiliar and the muscles protested, although less and less each day. "Yeah, I get some practice in gym." He dropped the arm. "At my work! Where they have a gym. For employees. Of my job."

Daredevil knew he was covering (and not very well, at that) but let it pass. If his... student... didn't ask questions about his life, he wouldn't ask questions about his student's life. "When you switch targets, you disengage, turn, and take a new stance. It's slow, and it leaves you vulnerable." He walked into the space between the heavy bags; Spider-Man moved back to give him room. "Instead," he planted a combo on one bag, "you need to look," he (unnecessarily) snapped his head around to the second bag, then back, "check your first opponent," he struck again with a cross, "then switch opponents without stopping," and finished by throwing the same elbow hard into the second bag. "Don't think of each opponent as a separate fight, think of each engagement as one continuous fight against multiple opponents."

"That's awesome! Do the elbow thing again!"

He smiled. "Always hit with the back of the elbow, and throw your body into it if you can. Even if you get a chance to hit forward with the point of the elbow, you generally can't get enough power behind it to make it worthwhile..."

———

———

Spider-Man and Daredevil sat on the steel shoulder of a construction crane overlooking the southwest corner of Central Park. While one enjoyed the view of blinking aircraft warning lights on the skyline, the other enjoyed the smell of autumn in the park. Spider-Man's mask was pulled up above his nose, which also let him enjoy a cold roast beef sandwich. Daredevil — heeding a comment Claire Temple made about Spider-Man's weight, but no reason to let him know that — began bringing sandwiches to share after a couple of training sessions. It only came to an extra meal every few days, but he figured every little bit helped.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Daredevil finished chewing the last bite of his own sandwich, swallowed then answered, "Absolutely."

Spider-Man pulled his mask down, pocketing the rest of his sandwich for the train ride to school later that morning. "You don't have to answer, but I really want to know!"

Daredevil turned and cocked his head. _Here it comes. The inevitable 'who are you really' moment._ "Go ahead..."

Spider-Man paused for a moment, then looked Daredevil straight in the... mask. "What happened with the chickens?"


	18. NYCD Chapter 18

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

Franklin "Foggy" Nelson breathed in deep through his nose, savoring the smell of a crab wonton before he popped it in his mouth. "Mmh! Mmm mmm mm-mm mmmhh..." he opined, chewing it slowly. It was the last wonton, from Golden Pagoda — the one on 49th, not the one on Broadway, and _definitely_ not the one on 53rd — and it was a bite-size piece of heaven. His business partners grinned at his enthusiasm.

"Mm hmm hm-hm hmm?" Karen Page asked. Her mouth was empty of food, but she held a golden nugget of chicken delicately in chopsticks, on its way to a tiny cup of delightfully tangy sweet and sour sauce.

"Uhm hummh!"

Matt Murdoch laughed. "And that, my friends, is the kind of eloquence that put Nelson, Murdoch, and Page, Incorporated on the map!"

Foggy picked up his beer bottle, held it over the break room table. Karen and Matt quickly followed suit. All three joined in a quick round of mumbles and grunts before drinking to their unintelligible toasts. Karen went back to her sweet and sour chicken while Foggy began clearing up the trash from their traditional Thursday after-hours takeout. Matt put two containers with leftovers in the mini fridge, and some extra soy sauce in the packet drawer.

With the break room in order, Matt took a pull of his own beer. "Before we go, I want to ask you something."

His business partners shared a glance. Foggy feigned surprise. "_Really?_ I had no idea! Did you have any idea, Karen?"

Karen played along. "I did not. This is a complete surprise to me. Can you see how surprised I am, Foggy?"

"I can. You look totally surprised. Practically flabbergasted."

It went on like that for a while. Matt sat quietly, allowing the banter to play itself out with a look of resigned patience. He finished the last few sips of his beer while he waited. Eventually, they wound down. "Honestly, I don't know how we don't both have resting shocked faces."

Matt let the refreshing silence draw on for a moment. "Are you done?" They both snickered.

"Matt, you've been unnaturally quiet for two days," Foggy told him.

"Then you ordered from the good Golden Pagoda and didn't use the petty cash fund to pay for it," Karen added.

"So we knew you were building up to something," Foggy finished.

Matt smiled around a gentle snort. "You both know me too well." He tossed his empty bottle into the trash can across the room. "Okay, here it is. I've been training Spider-Man for a couple of weeks now as Daredevil. I want to tell him who I am."

Foggy and Karen shared a confused look, then turned back to Matt. Foggy spoke for both of them. "And?"

Matt released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "And... I want to know what you think. This is a decision that could, potentially, affect all of us, not just me. I want to talk it over before I do anything. For a change."

Foggy sat back in his chair. "Huh."

Karen shot Foggy an exasperated look, then touched Matt's hand. "Thank you, Matt. This means a lot."

"No, I mean, yeah, that's... great." Foggy's expression became serious as he slipped into lawyer mode. "I assume you've already pro-conned this to death."

Matt nodded. "Several times."

"And the verdict is..."

"I trust him."

"Okay. Why?"

"Foggy! He doesn't have to justify himself to us." Karen gave his shoulder a gentle shove.

"No, it's okay. I trust Spider-Man, but I trust both of you more, so I want you to tell me if you think I'm making a mistake." Karen acquiesced. "First, in the time we've been training, he's never once brought up the subject of our actual identities, our regular activities, how we got into..." He paused, searching for a term.

"Costumed vigilantism," Foggy supplied.

"...costumed vigilantism, or where our abilities came from. He is discreet with his own secrets, and respectful of mine. Second, he didn't take the bait when I... left a fake wallet out beside my gym bag."

"You didn't," Karen chided.

Foggy agreed. "Dude..."

"Okay, okay, maybe it wasn't the most subtle ploy, but he did notice, and he did tell me, and his heart never skipped a beat. He never even considered looking in it."

Karen nodded. Foggy steepled his fingers. "Yeah, that's great, but I wasn't asking why you trust him, I was asking why you want to tell him who you really are."

"Oh. Well, it's getting a little annoying to keep setting up late night meetings on rooftops." Karen laughed silently, but Matt could sense the slight motion of her shoulders. "I want an easier way for him to get in touch if he needs to. And I want to introduce him to Danny and Luke. And Jessica. Maybe. That will be easier if he already knows who I am." He leaned forward. "So what do you think?"

Foggy looked to Karen, who motioned for him to go ahead. "Will he be telling you who he really is?"

Matt shook his head. "I don't intend to ask. If he wants to tell me, I'll keep his secret. If not..." He shrugged.

"Well, if you've thought it through, I won't object. Especially if he passed the heartbeat test." Foggy's tone was light, but Matt knew he was serious. Especially since his heartbeat was completely steady as he said it.

Karen stood up. "I trust your judgment. If you trust Spider-Man, so do I." She took her jacket off the back of the chair. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a full day of workman's comp interviews tomorrow." She put the jacket on, then pulled her hair out of the collar.

"Do you want to share a cab? I'm bach'ing it tonight, so I'm going your way." Foggy got up as well, pushed both their chairs against the wall, ready to seat waiting clients in the morning.

"Sure. Is Marci out of town?"

"She has a friend from law school staying at her place this week. So I am footloose and fancy free."

"You're living on fast food and leftovers, aren't you?"

Matt heard the office door close as they left, heard Foggy bridle at the insinuation. "I will have you know_ I _am the culinary one in our relationship. Why, Marci could barely assemble a decent sandwich before I came along." Karen's laughter trailed away down the stairwell.

"Well, alright then," he said to the empty room. "If you're sure."


	19. NYCD Chapter 19

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

Doris Toomes looked over her daughter's shoulder at the glowing laptop screen and watched text appear at an amazing rate. "In my day, we had to send away for paper applications, fill out every single one by hand, and send them all back in the mail."

Liz Allan didn't look away from the screen. Her fingers did not slow their furious rate of travel across the keyboard. "Was it uphill in both directions?" she deadpanned.

Doris broke out laughing. "And the snow was six feet deep!" Liz joined in the laughter. It was an old joke, one they used frequently, but they still loved it. Each woman thought privately how much they would miss it, this time next year.

"How's it coming, honey?"

"Great. I'm done with CalTech, Culver, and Empire State. I just sent Northwestern, and I'm just getting started on University of Chicago."

Doris walked from the dining room table, Liz's college application command center, to the kitchen. "I'm not entirely sold on Chicago." She opened a cabinet, took down a glass.

Liz rolled her eyes. _Not this again._ "Chicago has first-rate science and business programs, and it's not even as far away as some of the other schools I've applied to." She'd explained this half a dozen times.

Doris closed the refrigerator, working the cap off a jug of orange-mango-pineapple juice. "It's twelve hours by car or train, which means you have to fly to visit home, which means it might as well be as far away as those other schools." She poured the juice into the glass and opened the refrigerator to put the jug back. "And one of the highest crime rates in the country." She returned to the dining room, sat at the table opposite her daughter, pushed the glass across to where Liz could reach it. In the other room, the refrigerator door swung shut. "I swear I won't have a decent night's sleep for four years!"

Liz goggled over the laptop at her mother. "And New York doesn't have crime?"

"New York has super-heroes. Like Spider-Man. And Lu-u-uke Ca-a-age." She drew the name out, momentarily far away.

The eyes rolled again. "Mom, it's one school out of twenty-seven. Even if I get in, I might not get the scholarships I'll need —"

"Oh, honey, don't you worry about that. Your father and I will make sure you can go to any college you want to."

"— and even if I get those, I might decide to go to another school."

"Why are you applying to so many schools? It's not like any of them are going to turn you down. Four point three GPA, SAT scores through the roof, and Academic Decathlon national champions team captain!" She beamed with pride. "I am so proud of you!"

Liz basked in her mother's love for a moment, before she took a swallow of the juice. Her favorite. She hadn't even realized she was thirsty. "You taught me that if I want to have choices in life, I'd have to work for them. So I did. I worked very hard to be able to apply to any college I want. Now that I can, I'm going to apply to every college I want so I will have more choices when decisions come out. And all the colleges I'm applying to are nationally ranked in almost every program, so no matter which one I choose, I'll have lots of choices when I get there."

Doris' smile, almost impossibly, grew happier. "That's my girl. You are gonna take this world by storm!"

Liz rocked her shoulders gently. "We-e-ell, college by storm, anyway. The world will have to wait."

"You know, Cornell is a nice school." She stood to go, let Liz get back to work.

"Yes it is. That's why it's on the list." Liz put her fingers on the keyboard again.

"Far enough away you'd be on your own, close enough to visit as many weekends as you like..." Doris walked out of the room.

"Columbia and NYU are even closer, but I'm still applying to them, too."

"Cor-nell has ski-ing..." the older woman sang from the hallway.

"And it's your al-ma ma-ter..." the younger woman sang, already typing again. She called out louder, "I'll do Cornell next, okay? Happy?"

Doris leaned in the doorway. "Whatever you want, honey, it's completely up to you." She ducked back before Liz's glare could find her. It was really Doris' glare, passed down successfully to the next generation.

She chuckled all the way up the stairs.

Adrian Toomes was just coming out of the shower. He rubbed a towel over his head (briefly) and kissed his wife. "Hey there. What are my favorite gals up to?"

Doris' smile turned wicked. "Girl talk. Bore you silly."


	20. NYCD Chapter 20

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

Ned Leeds closed and locked the front door of his apartment, grateful to be done with another day of school. It was a good day. All his assignments from the previous day came back with high marks. The not-so-pop quiz in second period calculus was less difficult than he feared it would be. He had computer lab after lunch, and a substitute teacher for sixth period, which gave him plenty of time to finish his homework before the final bell rang to send everyone home. He ate lunch with Peter on the bleachers, where they talked about what Spider-Man did the day before, and where Spider-Man should patrol the next day.

After the car alarm incident Ned created a randomizing algorithm to apply to Spider-Man's activities in the hope it would be more difficult for others to find him in the future. It took some doing, especially when he factored in a recovery subroutine to compensate for times Spider-Man was needed outside of recommended areas. Peter initially resisted the idea of keeping to some kind of schedule, but the system typically allowed enough choices that he didn't feel too put upon to stick to the recommended areas. Most of the time.

Ned slid his backpack down the hallway toward his bedroom, went back to the coatrack by the front door to hang up his jacket, then headed for the kitchen. Two of his mother's homemade oatmeal cookies and an apple wound up on a saucer, with a glass of grape juice beside it. He enjoyed his snack at the counter. Mrs. Leeds was a stickler for neatness, and had no time or patience for crumbs (let alone dishes) anywhere but the kitchen and dining table. When he was done, he put the glass and the saucer in the dishwasher for later.

Safe from scolding Ned headed down the hall, snagged his backpack en route to his bedroom, put it on a folding chair just inside his bedroom door. He half fell into his "office" chair and rolled across the room to his "professional" computer setup, completing a four hundred fifty degree spin on the way. He had forty more minutes of glorious privacy before his mother and sister got home. Just enough time to take care of business.

He spent three minutes getting through his own security to the dedicated server where he did his real work — not the homework and social networking he gave his parents full access, and not the new partition he set aside for his upcoming role as guy in the chair. This was his domain, a tiny little corner of cyberspace all his own, where he sent feelers out into the deep web looking for the dark, and letting a little light in where he could.

He had five new contacts to check out, five systems his code torrent — his own term, patent pending — had infiltrated sufficiently to re-assemble itself into software that would contact him from inside whatever firewalls were in place, bypassing every layer of security as if it wasn't there. Well, not actually, but it usually gave him enough access to figure out what the system was for before it locked down the unauthorized communication.

Two contacts turned out to be subscriber-only commercial systems. One was kind of elitist, one was kind of sketchy, but both were legal. He noted them for future reference. After all, you never knew when you might need a handmade alpaca wool blanket, or cheap knockoffs of expensive designer shoes.

The third contact was absolutely vile if the image and video filenames were any indication, and no force on Earth would make him click a single one of them to see if they were. Instead, he sent the command for his software to erase itself from that system, then sent the URL to the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. Ned knew the internet was full of pornography, but it never occurred to him that he would have to deal with that kind of depravity when he started mapping the deep web.

Contact number four was a launch site for internet scammers. It generated automated phishing e-mails and sent them to every address it could find, while spoofing its own address and meta-data. This system didn't serve any of the links it sent out, to prevent them being backtracked and the system shut down. He sent this URL straight to the FBI Cyber Division and flagged the site on his list. If the system was still running in a couple of weeks, he would shut it down himself.

Two years ago, Ned's grandmother in Manila — Nana Reyes, not Gram Leeds — lost her life's savings to cyber criminals. It was a simple phishing scam, complete with some personal information pulled from online public records and a false forward tag from an address in her e-mail contacts. She gave them her bank account information and a credit card number. One million pesos vanished in three hours. Ned's parents started sending her money to get by, and Ned started learning computer languages to get even. Two years later, he was an unknown player on the internet, a white hat known only by reputation and anecdote. He had reported three hundred cybercrime enterprises, and taken down at least sixty systems on his own — including the scammers who targeted his grandmother.

_Nobody_ messed with Nana Reyes and got away with it. Nobody.

The fifth system was gone by the time he tried to access it through his intrusion software. Ned had seen this before. Some systems would change URLs to avoid detection, but his software usually countered that by staying hidden in the systems under the new address, or by getting copied to the new location along with the rest of the site. This was something different, though, cyber security taken to another level. Either this system matched subscriber software that predicted the changing URL according to a preset pattern, or the system pinged its trusted contacts every time it set itself up under a new location. There was nothing Ned could do but hope his code torrent found its way into this mystery system again, then pounce on it if and when it came back up.

For now, though, all he had was an ominous, if somewhat pretentious, name.

Murderworld.


End file.
